Catharsis
by Sparrow-chan
Summary: She meets him along the rocks of the sea, bathed in orange and swaddled in black, his hair long and wild. She has no idea what kind of trap she has fallen into, nor what path she'll soon follow. (On the life of a previously unnamed woman.)
1. Chapter 1: Sunset

Hey guys! I've had this waiting on my dash for a while so...ENJOY SOME DAVIDXOC MMKAY? I may make this a legit story but it depends on how much a I care about continuing...Like, I have one version of this which is long and another that's short, so take your pick!

 **Catharsis  
**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 1: Sunset

* * *

She meets him along the rocks of the sea, bathed in orange and swaddled in black, his hair long and wild.

His eyes pierce hers, and she's struck by the pure intensity of them, the pale blue of the sky on an unbearably hot day. He smiles at her, perhaps for the thrill of it, and something within her, inside her very core, buzzes with familiarity. Then she turns away from him and leaves. She's not sure why, her feet just turn away, as if he's a whirlpool in the waters and if she swims any closer she'll be sucked in.

It's scary.

Ah, but she's not quick enough.

He appears by her side, matching her stride. In surprise her gaze flickers to his, only to find his eyes have yet to leave her face. He smiles again, amused, and she looks straight ahead. No matter if she quickens or lessens her pace, he always smoothly transitions to walk beside her, grace in each step. He moves in the same manner as a panther: precise, calculating, lithe and predatory.

"It's quite rude to bother someone you don't know," She finally cracks, sliding her eyes to his jaw.

"Oh, is it? But I know you, so I suppose it's fine." A twinge of annoyance pricks her forehead, trailing across her scalp like a bony, sharp hand.

"I don't believe we've met."

"We have," He tells her. "You just weren't paying attention."

She stops and stares at him. He walks forward a little, turns, and waits patiently. She balches. Past the orange of the light and the blue of his eyes, over the wild mane of his hair and the smooth forehead free of the third eye, a memory waves its ghostly fingers.

"Elder David," Her voice trembles like the notes of a finicky flute. Then, softer, and with more hesitation because that smile hasn't moved an inch, "I suppose I wasn't paying attention."

The smile disappears for a single instant in which he studies her, and then he grins like she told a joke only he could possibly understand.

"You're a funny one, Bathsheba. That's why everyone adores you so."

Bathsheba does not reply, but somehow, she weakly understands that she is trapped.

* * *

 _She tried to run._

 _I saw it with my own eyes._ _I've been watching her for so long, I've memorized her face into my mind. Not out of affection, nor some sort of_ personal _connection, but because she's important. I've waited for her for what feels like a thousand years- a time so long that the only thing comparable to it to me is the length of my own life. I've waited for her to turn to me, meet my gaze, and follow the path laid before us by the hands of our God._

 _And yet she refused._

 _I must admit, it was quite shocking._

 _The only person I ever expected to do that was [a large blob of blotched ink, coming from a pen frozen over paper] me._

 _She tried to run._

 _Of all things, to run. But we do not outrun destiny, and I believe Bathsheba realizes that now. Or maybe I hope she realizes that now, or else everything I've done until now will be pointless._ Fruitless _._

 _And my sins will stay sinful, because they hold no more higher purpose than I._

 _Though, I cannot help but muse, what an interesting woman Ill Illah has given to me._

* * *

Bathsheba remembers now, the first time she caught a glimpse of the elusive Elder David. Only his back, strewn with black hair, and his robes as they slid across the floor.

She felt-

...It was strange, what she felt. The immaculate church rang with the footsteps of the Elders as they proceeded toward the meeting room. The magicians on the sides stood with their heads bowed low, their fists cupping one another. They dared not peek up, lest they lift their unworthy eyes to meet an Elders', and be punished for vying for divinity so unashamedly.

But something spoke to her.

She tried to ignore it. Oh _God_ did she try, just like she's been trying her entire life to ignore it. But the voice was as clear as water and as soothing as a mother's hand, blowing its voice into her ear.

" _Look up,"_ It whispered. It was not male or female. It was not a single person, nor was it plural. It sounded like one thing and then the next, and whenever she tried to remember what it sounded like, her head would get fuzzy, like it was wrapped in cotton. " _Look up and_ see _him, Bathsheba. Look, now, before it's too late."_

She obeyed.

And she felt...Unimpressed.

He was the glorious man that everyone admired, respected and _loved_ , and yet she was unimpressed. Maybe it was how he held himself. Maybe it was because footsteps sounded too grounded.

Or, she wonders, maybe it was because the air around him made it seem like he didn't care about any of this nonsense.

* * *

 _Bathsheba has always been a good girl._

 _When she was young, she had the best scores out of all the magicians in her classes. She excelled at everything she did, from magic to history to mathematics. She was a genius only matched by the magicians I've bred myself and that man who locks himself in the library and will someday become important._ _In her teens she began to dabble in different arts. I wondered what occupation she would pick, though it was obvious. She'd become a healer. Someone with her talents really should've chosen a different path, but that was what she wanted, so I decided I would let her._

 _Instead, she chose to become a professor who specialized in strength magic and studied the effectiveness of the Gunuds upon the lesser species._

[Written over many times, darker than the rest of the page] _ **You can see why I took an even more severe interest in her, other than the fact that she's essential to my plans.**_

* * *

 _"Ma'am,"_ It's a whispered call for her to look up and pay attention to him, but she refuses. Her eyes are too focused on the image in front of her. "Professor, _please_."

"Yes?" Bathsheba mutters half-dreamily, transfixed. Her student stares at her with horror.

"You're insane. We need to get back- i-if we don't then the sun will set and they'll _eat_ us," He becomes more and more frantic by the second. She pretends not to hear him, creeping closer to look down at the species below. They look so worn, she notes. Their fur is bright orange, the color of poppies, and they have four eyes. One pair is placed where her's are, and then another pair rests on top of them. When the bottom pair blinks, the top stays open. When the upper pair blinks, the bottom stays open.

"Fascinating," She breathes, staring down at them. A smaller one cuddles into it's mother, just a pup. She smiles more.

" _Ma'am!"_

Spell broken.

"Yes, yes, Nathan," She tuts, dropping her head in defeat. "We shall go now. Gather my papers."

"Ma'am, what's even so interesting about them?" The young man- though she prefers to think of him as a boy- quickly stuffs their work into the satchel and scrambles up, instantly starting down the path impatiently. Bathsheba takes more time collecting herself, brushing off her robes. She follows him much more slowly, watching the way he clutches his staff.

"What do you mean?" She asks in return. Nathan almost rolls his eyes, but his grade depends on her, and he stops himself just in the nick of time.

"I mean," He starts, peeking behind them. "They're just a bunch of mindless animals. Why bother?"

She stares at him.

"Those mindless animals nearly drove us to extinction," She tells him, and his cheeks flush. "They're not stupid, Nathan. We _make_ them stupid. And why? Why do we fear them so?"

He blinks with those big green eyes of his.

"Because they nearly drove us to extinction," He repeats, and she rolls her eyes at _him_. His cheek twitches.

"No, because _we're_ the animals. We put them down because we want to feel powerful, to exercise the gift our Father gave to us so long ago. Every damn thing on this planet is an oppressor, we've merely been made the strongest of them all." Nathan stares at her with an alien expression, his jaw slack.

"However," She then mends, "If you want an 'A' in my class, you better write a decent paper on the species we just watched. Write about their habits and population. Oh, make a good schedule for when we should make them work and how long they need to rest. Add ribbons to it, you know, fancy statements like 'ravenous beasts' and 'Our uplifting moral structure'. But I'm sure you'll do fine, Nathy. Your wife'll be so proud."

He sort-of half chokes.

Then, weakly,

"You...You wanna come over for dinner sometime, Ma'am?"

She tells him that sounds wonderful.

* * *

 _She wasn't doing anything right._

 _I watched her for so long, that I began to see how wrong she was doing things. It wasn't suppose to be like this._

 _The little things didn't bother me- who cared that she befriended so-and-so or failed a student out? It won't effect the ending to her life. But I began to realize that she wasn't_ letting _me help her. She was avoiding anything that had my touch._

 _I began to crave more of the game we played._

 _I'd send a magician in to have her go study a certain species, she'd already have plans. That had been planned ahead of time by three weeks._

 _Point little Bathsheba._

 _She'd wish to give a student the right to transfer classes, suddenly that spot was filled by a boy who'd been on the waiting list._ _For_ five _weeks_ _._

 _Point me._

 _And it would continue like that._

 _She had no idea what was happening of course, but I did. And that's what makes her so valuable. She has been valuable before, but only because of the things I need from her. Now she's valuable because of something else._

 **She's fun.**

* * *

Little Bathsheba!

Whelp, that's all for now. I'm posting this because A. Finals suck and B. procrastinating is super fun.

Tell me if you like it! I'm pioneering a few different styles of writing. Some of the parts in the story are in present tense, others in past, and David is just David. Not sure if I wrote him _write_ (PUN OH MY GOD).

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	2. Chapter 2: Sky

Heeeeyyyyyyyyyyy. Finalsssssss. Tiiiiiirirrrrreeeddddd.

 **Catharsis  
**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 2: Sky

* * *

Born in a city called Ysrael, life had been easy.

Miraculously so.

A year and three months before her birth, a man met a woman, and after some courting, married her. Six months after they met, and three after they married, the woman became pregnant.

These people were Bathsheba's mother and her father.

Her father had been a high ranking magician, her mother a kind, loving housewife.

It was a perfect world she was placed into.

Perhaps God wished her to live her life wrapped in wool and placed into the pocket of her future husband, but she had no such plans for herself.

It was strange, because nothing really motivated her.

Well, except the voices.

She mentioned them to her mother once.

 _Once._

There had been silence.

"...Honey?"

"Yes, mother?"

"Don't ever speak like that again, do you understand?"

"U-um...Yes, forgive me, mother…"

Her mother told her father later that night, and the man had let out a low sound. Half-unbelieving, half-annoyed.

"I finally land that promotion...And she…-oices?" Through the walls, she can't hear well, but knows enough not to mention it again.

Later, her mother pops out a baby boy, and her father is pleased greatly.

Bathsheba is left to her own devices, as long as she pretends she was only joking about what she had said before.

* * *

 _Ill Illah gave her a cushy life, and she rejected it._

 _It was such a beautiful act of defiance I almost wanted to applaud her._

 _I wonder, if that person will get their rebellious attitude from her. Or, maybe, she'll teach it to them. Oh well, it doesn't really matter._

 _But I'd like to see more of her rejection of this world._

 _More and more until she runs out of steam and falls into my waiting arms._

* * *

"I'm going to become a magician," Bathsheba declares. Her kid brother looks up at her blankly. Her mother's jaw slackens. Her father clutches his spoon.

"Honey, we talked about this," Her mother starts. A strand of perfect blond hair slips into her face, but she's so focused on her daughter she doesn't notice. "You're a lady, and a lady doesn't-"

"Mother, I understand, but I'm no lady." A tightness forms beneath her jaw. "I'm not. I tried, but I'm not. And I'm going to enroll myself in school."

"No, you are not." Her father hisses, slamming his spoon down as he stands. She stands as well. Her mother looks like she's going to pass out.

Her kid brother looks on some more, tilting his head in the way only toddlers can.

"Yes, I am."

"I don't care that you know how to do a water spell or two," He spits, his eyes wrinkling unpleasantly at the corners. "I will not stand for your disobedience!"

"And I won't sit around waiting to be married!" She roars, throwing her arms out to the sides. "I'm not livestock! I'm not!"

"Honey, please calm down," Her mother begs, to whom Bathsheba's not sure. Either way she still turns around and runs back to her room, slamming the door shut. It's not over, it won't be, but she doesn't plan on giving up so easily.

* * *

 _Her father's name was Avram. Her mother's Shushanna._

 _Her father had blue hair so dark it looked black and eyes as brown as decaying leaves, a man of autumn._

 _Her mother had golden hair and bright blue eyes, a pair of shiny marbles that seemed taken from the very sea._

 _Bathsheba has blue hair and eyes._

 _She's made of the sky._

* * *

"Well hello, young miss. What's a little girl doing without a chaperone?" Bathsheba lifts her eyes up to the man speaking to her.

"I wish to enroll in the Sabathe school. Do you know where it is?" The man blinks. He turns his head in a direction, then back at her, and then holds out his hand. She eyes it wearily, and he chuckles, returning it to his side. He motions for her to follow, and she does.

"This way. Why're you joining the school?"

"I'm gonna become a high class magician."

"Are you now?"

"That I am."

"But, you know-"

"There's not many women in the army, I'm aware," She begrudgingly admits. "Most of them are orphans. But I'm different. I'm strong."

He stares down at her for a second.

"How old are you?"

"Eight."

"That's the age of my daughter," He says amazedly. She raises an eyebrow. He keeps to himself for a minute and then continues. "You're as old as my daughter...And yet you speak like me. You must be a special kid."

She almost trips on her own feet.

"Um, sure," She looks to the ground. "Thank you."

* * *

 _So young, but so quickly growing._

 _I wait so patiently that it hurts, but that's only natural._

 _Excitement doesn't come often to a man who sees the end of all things._

* * *

"And who are you?"

"Bathsheba." The eight year old lifts her head proudly, eyes blazing. There was no way that she was going to be rejected now, not since she came so far and gave up so much. "I'm here to enroll and enlist, please."

"..." The magician sneers at her, a cruel laugh escaping him. "You want to join the Church? A little rich girl from the provinces?"

Her grip tightens over her satchel's handle.

"I'm not a little rich girl from the provinces. I'm a magician for the Elders of the Church."

"Sure you are. Why don't you just go home, kid? Wait 'till you're older to marry a real magician."

"That's not-"

"Azim!" A man in black clothing comes behind the desk, talking fast to the man handling enrollment. Azim seems caught off guard by this new interruption, and is taken away from the desk. A lady comes up in his steady, picking up the scroll.

She pauses, and smiles down at Bathsheba.

"Are you here to enroll, little one?"

Relief makes Bathsheba's shoulders sag.

"Yes, please."

* * *

 _I wonder...If that man had rejected Bathsheba, what would she have done? Well, I suppose it didn't matter. I arranged for her to get into the school, and get into the Sabathe School for the Learned she did._

 _And later, without my help, she got into the University of Trignon. From there she took a dual position of Species Studies Chief Scientist and Professor of Advanced Strength Magic. She carved out a wonderful life for herself with her own two hands._

 _I feel no shame for taking it away._

* * *

"U-uh, Professor…?" The voice was so timid that Bathsheba almost ignored it entirely. She blinks, turning her full attention to the man in front of her. He almost seems more petrified now that she's facing him, clutching the scrolls in his hands tighter.

"Yes?" She picks up a chart of all the seats and finds his name. "Mr. Nueph?"

"O-oh, you can just call me Ugo. I mean, because my name's Uraltugo, so, um, yeah." He lamely finishes, gaze hitting the floor. He coughs, swallowing hard.

"Is everything alright, Ugo? Is there something you'd like to ask me."

"Y-yes! Actually, I had an idea, um, an idea on the physical forces of the world...Could you look at it?"

Bathsheba studies him once more.

He's disheveled, wearing thick glasses and clothes that are strangely ragged on him. His hair was a mess of light blue tugged back into a sloppy braid, and he looked slightly off, like he was thinking about many different things at once. If it wasn't for all those things, she'd say he was very handsome on account of his broad shoulders and firm bone structure.

A smile slips onto her face.

"Sure, let me see it."

* * *

 _They met when I wasn't looking._

 _It didn't matter._

 _But it was bothersome because I knew that he was in love with her. I could practically feel the admiration radiating off of him in waves when he looked at Bathsheba, the melting of his eyes and the goofy smile on his face. I just dismissed him because I'd heard he couldn't go within ten feet of a woman without passing out._

 _I was mistaken._

 _And I realized that it was, once again, her doing._

 _He was drawn to her like so many others are and have. He was willing to muster up his courage and speak to her, even if it was only once._

 _It was not truly her fault, sweet Bathsheba is nothing but innocent in her actions, naive in the fact that she doesn't recognize a man's feelings._

 _I wonder if Ugo will be crushed once I take what's mine._

 _Unless, of course, Bathsheba cheats on me._

 _[Written over twice, firmly] Which she won't._

* * *

Whoo! Zhe plot thickens. And Ugo is the most adorable person in the world, so yay for him being in this chapter.

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	3. Chapter 3: Cost

WHOOOO WHEN YOU DIDN'T FAIL FINALS!

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 3: Cost

* * *

"Ugo?"

"U-uh, yes, Ma'am?"

"You're not afraid, right?" The man blinks, and shakes his head. Bathsheba smiles softly, happy with his response. "Nathan was. He cried the first time I took him out."

"Did not!" Said magician interrupts, steaming. He carries his usual pack on his back, filled with all the tools and papers they need for the trip. His nose crumples at his boss's description of their first ever outing together, back when he was student at the university.

"Well, I could hear your soul crying." Bathsheba clears up her statement, turning back to the trail. "Now, you two, let's get going. We need to be at the site by noon."

"H-hey, Ma'am?"

"Yes?"

"Um...It's a very lovely day out." The timid voice of Ugo makes Bathsheba giggle. She nods, looking up at the baby blue sky.

"It is, isn't it?"

She doesn't notice Nathan shaking his head at Ugo in disappointment.

* * *

 _Adventure, for her, was a continuously changing thing._

 _A trip out to study the other species was an adventure._

 _Going out to dinner with her friends was an adventure._

 _Learning something new was an adventure._

 _She contented herself with all these adventures, and made herself docile to the machine that chugged out endless horrors. She made herself push down the hatred of those who discriminated against the other beings in the planet for the sake of her life, of her duty. And what duty was that?_

 _Even I do not have the answer._

 _What I do know is that together, Bathsheba and I will embark on the final adventure the both of us will ever take._

* * *

"Oh, Nathy, tell me you didn't!" Nathan scratches the back of his head, avoiding his professor's earnest gaze. "You've applied?!"

"Well, Sara told me to, so…"

"Oh, Nathan," Bathsheba laughs, picking up the application. "I'd love to have you aboard."

"R-really?"

"Yes! But be sure to be ready for the call. Being a Species Analyst is a very demanding job."

"Y-yeah, but I want to do it! I want to learn more!" Then, realizing what he said, "I-I mean…"

A small chuckle.

"Yes, I know what you mean, Nathan. It's good to have you on the team."

* * *

There was a time in her life that meeting someone new was sort of like a game.

There was the greeting, the chance to be original with what she said...There was the excitement of picking their brains to learn what's inside of them. There was even the goodbye, which signified to her how an encounter went.

But meeting David Jehoahaz Abraham, all those things became ice cold.

"...Sir, it's an honor to meet you." She says primly, sipping her tea delicately. Looking down at the rose-colored liquid made his uncomfortable staring feel less awkward.

"Is it?"

"That it is." Blue versus blue. He wins. "Why have you called me, if I may be so forward?"

"If I say no?"

"Then I'll drop the entire thing...Though that would also mean you have nothing to speak on." David chuckles, a sound not entirely unpleasant. At the same time, it's low and slow and full of predation.

"I have a proposition for you."

An eyebrow raised. Opportunities, though not foreign to her, still stirred an interest that held just as much weight as the desire to run away did.

"What would that be?"

His smile is plastered to his face, sewn on.

It's unnatural.

"How does publishing anything you'd like sound?"

"..." Her eyes widen. Anything. No editors blasting her works because they're too _uncouth_ or _not showing enough reverence to the Lord_. A chance to write whatever she wants and not be attacked by the Church nor threatened with excommunication.

"...Costly." His smile moves upwards more, something she thought impossible.

"A wise answer. How about, in addition of course, sitting in on private council meetings for a chance to debate new laws and bills?"

She frowns.

"That's all well and good, but-"

"New laws and bills over the governing of the other species?"

She becomes as cold, colder than a greeting or a goodbye.

"...What's your price?"

He shows his teeth for the first time, rows of pearly white bone.

"I knew you'd want to talk." He leans forward. "Let's bargain, Bathsheba."

* * *

Footsteps ringing against the marble floors. A name called out.

"Bathsheba!"

A pause, as the woman turns toward the voice.

Heavy breathing.

"Bathsheba, what- what's going on? They told me, they told me you're meeting with Elder David today."

"..." Crisp as the first leaves of spring, Bathsheba nods. "I am, Ugo."

"...Why? T-those rumors aren't true, right? You're...You're not a possible candidate to become his wife, are you?"

A longer pause.

Softer this time, full of gentleness and resignation and the sadness of what could've been,

"I am."

"You can't marry him!"

"Ugo, quiet down-"

"What about all the things you showed me?! What about the things you said?! I believed in you when you said you didn't trust the elders!"

"Ugo-!"

"I thought- I thought we were in this together, Bathsheba...How...You can't marry him…"

"...I don't think I have a choice, Ugo." A tender smile, not made of the goodness within her. More as if the energetic grin she usually sports was taken and beaten into a pulp so that it rings with harsh pain whenever she touches it. "I've always...I've always thought I'd never give in so easily, that I'd keep on being able to live the way I please without bothering anyone...But I was wrong. I can't…"

A deep breath.

"I know that there are many wrong things with this world. I want change it all, so maybe this is the way or maybe it's a mistake...No. Thank you, Ugo. Thank you for everything."

"But I-" She turns away, showing her back to one of her precious friends. "But I love you."

The words echo down the hall, but Bathsheba doesn't stop.

* * *

 _I have avoided it long enough._

 _The reason I pay such special attention to little Bathsheba._

 _It's very glaringly obvious, though I wish not to jot it down should it decide to grow lips and taunt me in the future._

 _Despite this, I shall, because what's the price of power but pain?_

 _I do not need anyone else in this world._

 _However, Bathsheba is just like me._

 _I don't wish to let her, who glows with naivete in the face of her power, out of my sight. She will be the Queen I treasure, and I will be the God she worships._

 _ **You were born for me, Bathsheba. Never forget that.**_

* * *

Next chapter of this will be out _after_ the next chapter of SS. Because writing this is easy (bc short chappies) and writing SS is sofreakinghardbclongchappiesugh. I hope you like the chapter, LOOKS LIKE BATH IS MARRYING DAVID? Sorry Ugo-kun.

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	4. Chapter 4: White

Hi guys! Here's the next chapter, as promised!

* * *

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 4: White

* * *

The woman was gentle and docile.

But it was fake.

 _"She's faking it, Bath. She's a woman of layers."_

Bathsheba knew that moment the woman's hand slipped into her own, eyes like a doe's. They were a melted brown, or perhaps an amber, that glowed the same way that sun does through a cover of clouds. Her hair was brown, definitely, but a darker color. Painstakingly, the woman had segmented her hair in two ponytails, and let it go all the way to her feet. If left out of the hairstyle, Bathsheba knew that her husband's mistress's hair would create rivers of chocolate. But, because she couldn't blame a girl born to be one of David's "special magicians" for her mindless actions, she resolved not to hate her. Even should she take David's attention, which, Bathsheba knows, wouldn't be such a bad thing.

 _"He doesn't love her."_

 _How unfortunate._

"My name is Arba. I am to be your handmaiden, Lady Bathsheba."

Bathsheba offers a smile of friendship toward the kneeling handmaid and mistress, deciding that, if she wants to win this terrible game, she must make allies.

 _I'm terrible._

 _"Live, Bath."_

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

* * *

There was a red carpet that stretched along the stones, draped over four regal stairs. Bathsheba walks down that carpet, focusing on the way his robes are arranged around him. He had tried to do something with his hair, she notices, but only managed to get it to stay behind him instead of slipping over his shoulders in crazy waves. He's staring at her, but she refuses to meet his gaze. His gaze is like poison.

It is like ice.

And yet it rings with the heat of summers gone by.

She does not allow him to look into her eyes.

She tries to pretend it is entirely a matter of defiance, but it isn't and it hurt to realize that.

Up, up, up, and up, and suddenly he's close and the church is too perfect. He wove her a fairy tale wedding out of the dreams that every normal woman wants.

Not her.

Because normal women, in this world, are brainwashed into believing that their husbands are glorious warriors and that they protect them from ravenous monsters lurking beyond their borders. They think that as long as they make their homes clean, educate their children in the morally correct way and contribute to a society paved around them that they'll be alright, that their husbands will be pleased, and that they too are warriors.

They're not.

She knows.

Morally correct is wrong. The idea that oppressing beings that are different from them is wrong. There is nothing right in this world anymore, not since David took over. Not since the innocence of a child was synthesized to the purity of the Church.

Four months after meeting him, she's dressed in white, a pure, pure white. The corset of the dress is too tight, the material chaffing her legs. The train annoys her but she can't fix it, her scalp is sore because of the endless tugging of Arba's hands.

There is a brightness in the air, a lightness that cannot be matched anywhere else. The world comes into focus, a world she blocked out with red carpets and black hair. People beyond David, people standing with silent faces and large smiles, magicians clothed in funeral black. Cheering too, cheering things that makes her want to cringe.

"Long live the King and Queen!" A pounding at her temple, a panic settling in her stomach. What has she done? What has she given up? What does she want anymore?

The image of a dorky man with red-tinted cheeks and thick framed glasses flashes across her eyes. Another man hunched over a table, quickly scribbling out notes during her lecture and looking up eagerly. A mentor who shows her wrinkles, who points out faults, who dances on the ledge of a roof and screams out his wishes.

It's too much and not enough. She wants it all to fade away, she wills it to.

 _Sing to me._

The voices don't respond. They don't hum a single note.

David smiles down at her, holding her hands lightly. But it's not a real smile, because that's the smile she sees him give the Elders on his council and the magicians who eagerly look up to him.

She blankly returns his stare until amusement slips into his face and he tightens that grip. Only then does she force a smile, because at least now he's being just a bit more truthful to himself and to her. That this isn't a real wedding, nor a real marriage.

He caught her when she tried to escape, and now she's his till death do they part.

Too much, too much and not enough. But to the rest of the world she is a beautiful bride without a care.

It's joyous occasion, and the magicians celebrate and cheer loudly for their King and new Queen.

Bathsheba keeps deliberately still when David gently lays his lips on hers, an act to confirm her worst nightmare: she's his forever now.

Cheering, cheering, cheering, and the King and his captured Queen wave.

* * *

 _I married her to me._

 _No more running, hm?_

 _Though, I can't help but wonder, what kind of bird did I just clip the wings of? I suppose it does not matter, we all return to the same kind of birds once we die. I shall not. I shall complete my goal and reach something higher._

 _But you, my Queen, will stay with me. 'Till death do we part'? No, nothing like that._

 _I'll take you with me when I go._

* * *

"Arba?"

"Yes, Mistress?"

Bathsheba studies the woman for a moment, surveying her.

 _"She does not hate you."_

If such a thing were true, then perhaps even the voices were tricked by the brunette. As far as Bathsheba was concerned, trusting Arba was like allowing David to rule her whole life. She gives a kind smile to the handmaid.

"Would you like to go for a walk?"

"A walk?"

"Yes. I hear the gardens are beautiful...And I love to study plant life." Bathsheba offers her elbow like a man would, and the barest hint of surprise coats the gentle slopes of Arba's face. Up close the woman is so much prettier than far away, her eyes slightly larger than they appear, her almost bland nose looking just slightly more slim and befitting to her features.

"Mistress, I could not-" Bathsheba takes her hand and guides it to the offered elbow, placing it there with the utmost gentleness. Softly, the new Queen squeezes the hand and shakes her head.

"I would love to have a friend, Arba."

"A-a friend?"

"Of course. We could be like sisters."

 _"Treat her with the kindness she's never received, even from David, and she'll grow to love you."_

Bath lets the soothing voice massage her shoulders and create a blanket of calmness over her mind. With the same tenderness of a mother and affection of a sister, Bathsheba begins to show Arba what being loved is like.

* * *

Arba-chan is here y'all! And she's Bath's handmaid...? Yay development! Also yes, I'm having Arba secretly be David's lover. I always got the vibe that she "worshipped" him that way, if you know what I mean. She never seemed to see him as a father...Plus, in latest chapters she's been all over Sinbad (who is connected to Davie dearest.) So yeah. That happened.

AND ALSO DAVIE AND BATH GOT MARRIED WHAT THE HELL.

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	5. Chapter 5: Memory

Because I'm tie-tie (tired) and surprisingly enough two and a half chapters ahead on this story. Go productivity (I need to channel that for SS...).

* * *

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 5: Memory

* * *

The rocks dig into her palms and make half-moon circles across the skin, but Bathsheba doesn't mind. Instead, she crawls forward faster, making use of her knees and toes to create a solid grip on the sharp ground and propel herself carefully. The bushes don't make a sound around her, something that she feels enormously proud of and ashamed about; she had chosen that particular patch to hide in because the voices had told her to. The only noise came from her careless breathing, which forced her to monitor it very carefully.

Still, she creeps toward the opening, slowly rearranging the leaves to hide her. She peeks her head out, wide-eyed and curious.

Then she sees them for the first time.

It's a whirlwind of emotion and awe, fear and grudging respect. Her childish eyes take in everything greedily and desperately, whipping around to catch a glimpse of all the actions taking place. She wants to giggle, but stops herself just in time.

They were-

A being coated in the shiniest, silverest, thickest fur lifts itself onto its haunches, stretching it's back after a hard day at work. It falls back down and pushes a smaller version of itself forward, toward a more lithe and feminine one. Male and female, she guesses. The female licks the baby's face, and snuggles into the male. Mates, she changes her guess.

Even the other ones were-

It looked like a lizard, but with four arms. It was coated in slick scales that ran down it's side in a waterfall of black. It moved slowly, the upper arms massaging it's long, protruding ears while it's lower carries a large pack of hay. Her heart stops when she notices that the reason it was walking so slow was due to the terrible scarring on its ankles and broken talons. It coughs and fire comes out, which it uses to light the hay aflame and eat it.

In all, they just-

Smaller ones, even. Ones that looked humanoid except for their identical faces and pure white bodies. They stood at seven feet each, and along their arms and legs wings spread outwards. One of them falls, it's dress ripped and bloodied. The others come back for their sister, gathering her in their arms and carrying her back home.

She couldn't help but feel-

A group of vined covered men walk a part from the other species, casting suspicious glances. They had hair that were various shades of blonde and bodies covered in flowers and markings. Their ears were pointed and their nails long.

They blur together in a mix of all colors, and it takes a moment for her to feel her own tears.

They're beautiful.

Every single one.

And from the point on, no matter what anyone else said, Bathsheba loved them. Because she understood that they were in pain and that their beauty was marred, and that was unacceptable. They were all too sad and desperate and strange to show their real selves, but if they did then perhaps, _maybe_ -

 _"No."_

But someone declared that she'd fall for the beauty of the species she didn't know, and so she fell achingly in love. A love that, in truth, she wouldn't be able to replicate for many, many years. However, if there was one thing to note about Bathsheba, it was that once she fell in love, she'd continue to love for her entire life.

* * *

Once Bath enrolled in the Sabathe school, she was placed in an orphanage.

She had a tight schedule revolving around trying to get to school all the way across the city and avoiding the harsh gazes of the priests. They liked to catch her and rant about how she was a burden who set a bad example. The truth was that they were angry because her presence made the real orphans, the ones who had to attend grueling church lessons everyday, question why she was different. They had to go to lectures at the church hall, she went to a famous starter school. They were sent to power the Gunuds, she was free to live her life the way she chose.

'Why her?' became the motto of the unwanted children, who finally had something to ostracize like they had been.

 _"Bathsheba, do you see it?"_

Many nights she closes her eyes and listens, wiping away silent tears. Her ears hurt from the yells of angry adults and the lash-like whispers of scorned children.

 _"We'll help you see. Here, here, listen."_

Bath curls into herself, like a flower without the sun, and all the snores of the orphans around her melt away.

 _"Do you hear it?"_

She does. Like chimes and heartbeats and the twinkling of a star, like something vibrating across her chest and filling her head with air. She whisks away, flies away, and everything changes. The colors of the world, the gentleness of a mother's hand, a song sung by everyone who was and would be.

Sweet, soft, complete and cosmic.

In the dead of night, she gets sung to sleep by the voices of angels no one else can hear.

* * *

The fire crackles, pops, and giggles.

"He did not!"

"Did too," Bath's words are teasing, light. She leans forward on her elbows, laughing with another woman. "Your husband is a secret scaredy-cat."

"He seems like the type."

"I know what she's saying, Sara, but it isn't true." Nathan comes in from the kitchen, carrying mugs. His eyes instantly shoot to his boss, sending a faux-nasty glare before sitting beside his wife.

"You hurt me, Nathy," Bath coos, taking Sara's hand. "Sara knows the difference between truth and lies."

"You're right, Bath," Sara agrees, her blond hair catching the light. For a moment, Bath is caught in the way the pale golden locks shimmer around her chin, cupping her face. She leans away from her husband, earning a pout from the brown-haired man. "I am very smart. Just as smart as you two geniuses."

"Please." Nathan chuckles, pulling Sara back over. ""Genius" is a stretch."

"Yes, Nathan prefers the word, "surprisingly intelligent"."

"Shove it, beast queen." The nickname makes Bath rolls her eyes. The empty dishes of their meal lay forgotten on the table, and before them the fireplace hums for attention. It's warmth wraps around her legs, relaxing her before her friends.

"I don't like that nickname." It's Sara, surprisingly, who speaks up. Her voice is soft, her amethyst eyes roam toward the lit logs. Her face is illuminated by the brown-orange light, a pretty face protected by her middle-class father and mother before being offered to Nathan on her eighteenth birthday. Bath wonders sometimes if she had any motivation at all to do something with her life, but knows that if it wasn't for her own peculiarities she would've lived out the exact same scenario.

Except that her husband might have not been a kind, goodnatured man like Nathan. He might have been old and terrifying and controlling, he might have had the face of someone much younger than he actually is. But that's both biased and hypocritical, so she shoves the thought away. Bath pauses to study the wrinkle-free face of Nathan, with his bright green eyes and messy hairstyle. He was twenty-five, an looked his age, but it was unsurprising since he vowed to age at the same rate as his precious, non-magician wife who was three years his minor.

In a world of magic like the one they live in, age really is just a number. At least when dealing with magicians.

"Why?" Bath whispers in response, tilting her head. Nathan's eyes drop, but his arm goes around Sara tightly.

"They say...Things. Bad things, about you and Nathy. The ones who don't understand what you're doing." Such gorgeous amethyst jewels. They meet her sky-blues with desperation and hope. "You're doing great things! You're helping everyone with your work. The methods you propose, the schedules and the data, it's-it's all for the good of mankind. So...So I don't get why people are being so mean to you two…"

Ah, yes, a young woman educated by her brainwashed mother who was educated by her brainwashed mother before her.

Bathsheba doesn't break Sara's gaze.

Then her lips quirk upwards.

"People fear what they don't understand." Sara's eyes, so naive and sweet and unknowing, blink. Her eyelashes bounce in such a pretty way that Bath wants to hug her. Gentle and docile and sheltered by a husband who loves her, Sara tries to understand. Nathan kisses his wife's temple, almost sadly, and gives an apologetic smile at his boss.

Later he tries to explain that Sara just doesn't get it. That she doesn't understand what Nathan says to her. That she's young and has never even seen the other species, that he hasn't give up hope. Bath stops him, and tells him it's alright.

She tells him she wishes every person was like Sara.

She doesn't tell him that she wishes that, at least once, she had the chance to be like her.

* * *

"I love the beach."

Awkwardly, Ugo shifts. He shyly looks at Bathsheba out of the corner of his eye, tucking his knees close to his chest. Her gaze is trained on the sea, a small smile playing on her lips. She looks calm and centered, balanced. She looks strong, too, but Ugo can't describe that part of Bathsheba without turning a shade of red embarrassing for even him. Instead he contents himself with just staring, studying. He pretends she's an algorithm, because those make sense and she doesn't. He imagines writing a code that would create the exact shade of her hair, somewhere between navy and azure. He imagines trying to rewrite the same code for her eyes, which are big and shiny and coated with thick, long lashes. Except that they're also wise, too, old.

She's beautiful.

It can be really hard knowing that. It makes seeing her feel like the world is ending and she's the real god. It makes him feel like he should be next to her but as far away as possible. He can only stand it because she doesn't know she's beautiful. Because she doesn't act like she is. She does things to her hair that he considers a crime, pinning the long locks to the up and placing it in a tight bun that constricts it's natural movement. Bath had even tried to cut it once. He barely stopped her, and it involved blushing and stuttering and so much embarrassment. But he had been stubborn, and she, in surprise, agreed to leave her hair long.

She also wore the uniform of a real professor. She _is_ a real professor, but her attitude towards teaching, learning and study is radically different than that of the other teachers at the university. That's why it constantly surprises him that she wears the same neat and tidy clothes as the rest of the professors: black robes, white belt, sash showing her exemplary status. And yet, he notes with a fond smile, she always puts on a pretty dress whenever they all go out to dinner. She wears something that's feminine and cute and makes her look like an angel, but only for a short while and then it's locked up again.

Nathan told him she doesn't like looking like a girl. That she has anxiety about being treated as helpless because she's a woman. He doesn't understand why, though. He never thought less of her because she's a girl. If anything, the very fact that she's accomplished so much in, he admits, a male-dominated society makes him feel even more respect. But it's her wish, so he'll treat her however she wants to be treated. As long as he's allowed to stay next to her like this, he's willing to go along with whatever she'd like.

"I do, too."

* * *

There was him, making a mad cackle that echoed with the happiness of bright eyed youth.

There was her, sitting with her legs tucked under her and her face slack. They sat in plain view, watching the magical beings she loves with attentive eyes.

"Is this your form of fun, little Bath?" The man beside her asks, looking up to the side. She'd answer, but knows that he's not speaking to her. "Oh, happy day, you've found it!"

"Found what, sir?" She uses a soft voice, a gentle voice. Her mentor was a man with clouded eyes and strong features, a tired old man in youthful skin. Those eyes turn to her, a brown like sun touched gold, and his hand settles on her head.

 _"The food."_ Startled, she jolts back before a something hits her back. Her staff is pushed into her hands before she's falling off the cliff, her mentor's cackle crackling above her.

 _He pushed me._

"Feed your _soul!"_

She grasps her staff and orients herself, activating her strength magic. Billowing below her, her magic sets her down gently, knees against the dirt of the ground. A beast nearby stops and studies her.

His teeth are jagged and long, his fur an indigo she hasn't seen before. Her knees shake, and she presses herself against the wall, clutching the wooden staff to her chest. Tears gather in her eyes as the prospect of death inches ever closer to her. She whimpers, dreaming of her mother's warm arms and the fun she had in her classes. But was this what she wanted? To die alone without her parents' knowledge?

Without accomplishing what she always wanted to accomplish?

When she opens her eyes, she's squeals when she sees the creature had came closer, looming over her. He lowers himself down, taking a big whiff of her scent. She freezes, her heart racing. Every spells she's ever known disappears in a fraction of a second, every memory she ever had speeding across her mind.

There was something warm and sweet, a touch of a baby brother's soft hand, the exact way her father's mouth squirmed when he was thinking. A gentle ray of sunlight through a cloud, peering into a large window in the orphanage stained green and blue. Something utterly delicate wrapping around her, lifting her into the air-

Bathsheba snaps back to reality.

The beast.

The beast was holding her. She shakes uncontrollably as it lifts her higher, right in front of its face. She pushes down all terror as her gaze meets its.

A pause.

Time pauses for her, allowing both of them to stare into one another's eyes. She sees the weariness there, the concern and a wisdom she doesn't recognize. She sees a light that a mindless beast cannot have, a thought traveling across slitted pupils. Then, slowly, the beast reaches up with her still in its hand, and places her back atop the cliff. She clambers off, looking behind her.

It, no, _he_ , turns away and walks back toward his paused group of friends.

A hand ruffles her hair, a mad smile from a mad man. A tear slips down Bath's cheek as an unidentifiable feeling leaks into her bones.

"I hate you, Saul!"

Saul laughs, because they both know she'll be back tomorrow.

* * *

*Sings* MORE BATH FOR Y'ALL.

So yeah, no Davie dearest this chapter. BUT NEXT CHAPTER...He makes a cameo. The chapter after _that_ he talks, though! In this chapter, to summarize, Bath fell in love with the other species, we met Nathy's sweet wife Sara, and Ugo has a monologue that is entirely fluff. Also we met madman Saul ("FEED YOUR SOUL!")~! Hope ya like 'im, 'cause next chapter is his POV!

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	6. Chapter 6: Saul

Hi guys! I got a beta *squeals*! She's my friend from school, so we've been fangirling over David together :)

* * *

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 6: Saul

* * *

There once was a child who looked at Saul with eyes that were bright and shiny and full of sky. She came up to him with intent, with purpose, with heart. It filled him with joy and happiness as he witnessed the world wrinkle around her, clutch her, protect her. He reaches out, full of love, and hugs the child to him.

"M-Mr. Gibeath?"

"Hello little one," He says, stroking the girl's hair. He pulls back, beaming down at the girl. "What brings you to me? Fate? Knowledge? Hope?"

The child pauses.

"Knowledge."

"Knowledge. Knowledge! How perfect, I can provide you with that." He places a hand over his heart, like a knight. "You have soul, little one. I can give you what you seek."

"...You'll teach me?"

He smiles widely.

"My name is Saul."

She smiles back, full of relief. Almost as if she had expected to be amongst the other potential pupils he's rejected without a so much as an explanation. But she's different, whether she knows it or not, and he's going to fill that head of hers with the knowledge she wants so badly.

Their soul shifts and twists around them, shimmering with passion.

"My name is Bathsheba."

And their journey begins.

* * *

 _"Is it such a mystery that all we've ever known is what we've been told? The world is larger than what one can imagine, it's bathed in the light of three glorious suns. There are hundreds of different species, possibly thousands. Carnivores, herbivores, omnivores, insects, reptiles, mammals. A variety unlike that of anything else in the universe, all placed on one world. Have we ever thought of any other reason for this other than that GOD placed them here?_

 _People should have no reason to believe that we are special. Man was created lovingly by our LORD and blessed with magic, but there was a reason for that; GOD made us physically and mentally weak, and to counter it we received our magic. As a man, one should live a life that intensifies the values of our society: goodness, nobility, and sacrifice. It is the role of man to live our lives in such a way that does not express superiority, but rather an example of how to become closer to ILL ILLAH."_

-An excerpt from Chapter 2 of _The Role of Man_ , by Saul Gibeath.

* * *

The audience is waiting impatiently, chatting with one another. They mutter and whisper and outright shout to one another, giggling at jokes made. In the front row, amongst the fifty older students in the university classroom, a child is sitting quietly. Her presence there is strange, as she is merely twelve or so, but no one feels the need to bother the girl.

"Now, children!"

The yell resonates throughout the room, startling those who've never taken this particular teacher's course before. Those who know Professor Saul Gibeath aren't effected in the slightest, including the girl in the front row.

"Why are you here today?" A man sweeps in, plopping a knapsack on the desk. He sits next to it a top the desk, crossing his legs. He smiles goofily, looking only twenty, and claps his hands together. A few hesitant hands. He picks a man in the corner who avoids his gaze, trying to sink into his seat.

"YOU!" The man jolts, looking around him. He gulps and answers,

"To learn?"

"Hm, yeah, I guess," Saul yawns, unimpressed. "How about you, second row?"

"...To understand the complexity of the Gunuds."

"More specific, but not what I wanted. I like specific, however." The students quickly scribble this down for future reference. "So, children, no one can think of anything else?"

More hands, but Saul ignores them.

"Little Bath, what about you?"

The girl in the front row looks up with pretty blue eyes.

She sighs noticeably, knowing what he wants to hear.

"To feed our souls."

"To feed our souls!" Saul shouts happily, falling back on his desk. He lays there for a moment, laughing to himself, eyes locked on the ceiling. "Now, my real question is this: why must we feed our souls?"

There is a pregnant pause as the students take in the depth of the strangeness their professor possesses. They had heard the rumors about the renowned but psychotic Saul Gibeath, but none had predicted that it was true.

They're dead wrong.

Saul shifts to lay on his side, studying the expressions of his new students. He looks at them with different emotions running through his eyes.

 _Acceptance, resignation, dislike, like, crap-she's-pretty, interesting, he-looks-smart..._

Then they land on Bathsheba, and warmth fills him.

 _She's special._

A brilliant child who wants knowledge.

Little Bath scribbles something in her notebook before saying,

"Because there is no other way to grow, right?"

"Yes, child." Saul curls up, staring at her. It's like they're the only two in the room, mentor and student. "Because there is no other way to grow."

* * *

Bathsheba looks pretty in her wedding dress.

It's long and snow white, stitched with gorgeous lace. She looks angelic, she looks like her soul's taking physical form against her skin. It almost makes Saul happy. But little Bath isn't marrying for love, and her soul shies away from her in sadness.

She is not living as she should.

She isn't.

It makes him feel hopeless, because if the child he knows, who was and is special, can give up her life like this, then what will everyone else do? There is no one who could ever take her place, who could be as bright and beautiful and brilliant. She is- possibly was- the prophet he was waiting for to change the world. And yet now she's marrying the one corrupting it.

Oh, oh, oh, if only there was a way to stop the harsh reality of fate and make the oceans still, so that she could stitch up the mistakes she's made. But she cannot, and Saul cannot, and David would never let them.

In the beautiful church, Saul is the only one not cheering for the new Queen.

But that night, he would cry for his precious pupil.

* * *

"Master!"

"It's Saul~"

He's on a ledge.

He stands high above the world, staring down at the ant-like people, illuminated by a full, cheese-like moon. He looks at that moon. He reaches out, wanting to grasp it in his hands, wanting to go to the place where the soul goes.

 _Heaven_.

He doesn't believe in it. But he does believe that there's something more to this universe. Another miracle he hasn't seen, a magic so divine, so untouchable, so omniscient, that no human can grasp it. But God, as he can see in the distant flurry of blackbirds, is already being grasped.

"If only I could hear them," He moans quietly, spreading his hands apart. "I've been driven mad by that wish, you know. If only I could hear them."

The soul wraps around him more, white and pure and gentle. He can never hear them, though sometimes, when he's around Bathsheba, he can make out the echo of fluttering wings, and feel the soft touch of a ribbon-like feather. It's so enticing yet painful, because it leads him to wonder if she can hear what he cannot. It makes jealousy bloom like an ugly black flower trimmed with the green of envy in his heart.

"M-Master," Ah, that's right, Bathsheba. She's before him, her eyes concerned, her little fingers twitching with the desire to reach out and grab him before he falls. He tenderly smiles down at the child, so adorably innocent. He will not fall. Fate has dictated that he cannot, not yet.

So he dances.

Hopping, skipping, jumping. Twisting, turning, on the tips of his toes and the backs of his heels. He dances because he can't fall, he won't. Because he's protected by the soul dancing with him, in rhythm to a glorious music that he just can't hear.

He can't hear it. But he can dance to it all the same.

"I want to be free!" He yells, uncaring of the world around him. No one is watching. No one, except for the worried girl. "I want to see God, I want to ask him why he gave me this miserable life! I want people to see what I see, to know the truth!"

"There's nothing wrong with that," Bathsheba tells him, practically begging. "Please get down."

"No, I can't!" He wags his finger. "Because death is not waiting for me on the street below! He won't catch me tonight!"

"But…"

"Saul!" He screams, "Saul! Call me Saul!"

"Saul!" Bath finally complies, holding out her hand. "Please get down!"

Her voice is heart-wrenching and desperate, but he doesn't comply. He can't, because no matter how uncomfortable this is for his pupil, she needs to learn that even if you see death, that doesn't mean he can take you.

"Oh Bath," He closes his eyes, stilling on the railing. "I wish…"

He looks to the sky. Stained with an inky navy, littered with flecks of daunting silver. The moon is full and fat, the same as how it looked minutes before.

"I wish I was never born."

"No you don't," Bathsheba shakes her head. "You're lying."

"How would you know?"

She pauses, her lips pursed. She's thirteen. Budding, but not yet blossomed. Still yearning for the love of the parents and sibling she gave up for reasons that baffle even Saul. And yet, deep within her, an aged soul. A wise one. Something that has it's flaws but also it's unattainable perfections.

"I know." She points to him. "There's too much love for this world in your soul...Right?"

He sits on the railing, sighing an old sigh.

Even if he is mad, he's still a man.

"You're right. I really wish…" When he looks to the sky, he sees the path of souls moving in a line toward a far off, beautiful place. A place he cannot follow. A place which, for lack of better word, he's forced to call Heaven. "...That I didn't love living so much."

* * *

SAUL! AND SOUL!

Thanks for reading guys! I hope you like Saul. Next chappie we get a crash course in politics by Bath and Davie! And we meet new characters? One that is essential to the continuation of the plot? Exciting!

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	7. Chapter 7: Payment

Hi guys! I'm back with another chapter :)

QUESTIONS:

 **i really want to know more about bath & david. will you later tell us about the reason why david have interest with bath and why he already waiting her for so long (beside she was important to him, but for what) ? **Hello! Thank you for reviewing! That's a great question! The truth is that there are multiple reasons why David is interested in Bath: not only because why she's important (which is revealed in this chapter *smirks*), but after observing her after so long, he's grown to be "attached" to her; he sees her as a person unlike others because of her unique ability to "defy" fate (which I will get into later). Because of this, he finds her to be very interesting and aspires to learn as much as he can about and understand her, especially why she's able to change her life so much, her motivations, ect.

 **btw, will solomon later know about his mother and close to her ?**...Ummmmmm...We'll see ;) I'll just say that if they do know each other, I think they'd grow to be very fond of one another- not that their own personal beliefs won't clash a bit (Bath on her desire to change the Church from the inside/Solomon changing it from the outside.) ALSO HEY, WHO SAID SOLOMON IS BATH'S SON, HMMMM? ;)

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 7: Payment

* * *

The council chamber is probably the fanciest room Bathsheba has ever been in, and considering she is now a Queen living in the spiraling towers of the capital, that's saying something. The seats are all cushy and plush, covered in red velvet and made from dark, polished wood. The floor is made of similar wood, polished and smooth. The curtains from the large, floor-to-ceiling windows are dark blue with threads of gold and azure making rippling patterns throughout the silk-like material. There's fine craftsmanship on the bright white crown molding entailing heavily detailed flowers, which sits above and below the beige walls.

The ceiling is the best part, however.

Since being incredibly rich and flaunting that fact seems to be a pass-time of the Elders, there's no reason why their already costly meeting place shouldn't have high ceilings. And by high, she means scarily high. But with that height came a quandary for the Elders. What to do with this spectacle? A ceiling is just a ceiling. Until they decided on what to do: paint it. And paint it they did. To be completely sincere, Bathsheba is glad that they made that choice.

Whoever painted the ceiling is a master artist. It's the sky, a navy in the center that fades to a lighter blue on the ends. There's no moon, instead a tumble of silver and red and golden stars jumping and winking at her as if they're real. They range from small to large, make constellations, and glow.

"What do you think?" David's voice is amused. Not the fake humor she's learned he often sports, but a genuine amusement. As if he wants to hear whatever unexpected thing she has to say. She looks at her husband of three weeks, his smirk raised slightly. Then she looks back at the marvelousness of the room and delicately arranges her robes the way they are so supposed to be. Regal.

 _"Queenly."_

 _Hah._

"I think," She begins, appraising the furniture, "That this must've cost more money than I've ever made in my entire life."

"Well, that's certainly not true," He chuckles, as if finding her hilarious. She's not trying to be funny. She isn't even trying to be clever. "You're my wife now. You have all the money in the world."

"What a way with words you have," She boredly tells him, turning away. She walks toward the raised platform at the end of the room, where two thrones sit side by side. Bath instantly can pick out hers, because it's just a little less grand and ever-so-slightly more new-looking. "When does the meeting start?"

"Whenever you're ready," He responds, following after her. "They're waiting."

Feeling slightly sadistic, she turns to him and bares her teeth in a smile.

"Oh my, I feel overwhelmed. I may need a few minutes to gather myself." David smiles back at her, motioning to the throne.

"You have all the time in the world, my Queen."

* * *

Half an hour later, she decides the meeting can begin.

Though Bathsheba knows making enemies carelessly is a stupid thing to do, she still makes the old bastards wait in the hall as she inspects every aspect of the room. David sits on his throne quietly, his eyes closed. He has an annoying smile on, one that looks slightly different than his usual one. It almost appears like the smile of a young boy doing something naughty with his friends.

Not that they're friends. It's symbiotic mutualism, yes, but they aren't friends nor lovers and she refuses to cross either line with a man like him. That's right. She'll never, ever love him. But, staring at the man, she grudgingly accepts that she will tolerate him. She will work with him, if only to achieve her goals.

She follows the straight cut of his face, the strong chin he sports. His nose is long and nicely curved, the same way that his eyes are separated a good distance away from one another. When they are closed, it's easy to look at him. Easy to see the wicked, sharp curves of his hair, the shape of his face. Her head tilts to the side as she realizes he's handsome. It never registered with her for some reason, but she now understands why so many women obsess over him. She supposes she was just too caught up with staring at his fangs to see the face of the serpent.

"Why don't you have eyebrows?" There's also that. The weird thing is that he looks strangely natural without eyebrows.

"It's a side effect of being eight hundred years old," He replies instantly. It surprises her, because she thought he was asleep. After a moment, probably because he knows it'll annoy her, " _Dear_."

 _Ew._

 _"It's not that bad."_

 _Is he calling you that?_

 _"...Okay, it's a little gross."_

The voices laugh in her ears. It makes her frown, because they're supposed to be on her side- even though that feeling is very self-centered.

Her husband doesn't open his eyes. It coaxes her to drift to the thrones, stand over him.

"Need something?" David asks. His voice is sleepy, drowsy. Like he's going to fall asleep any moment. She can't blame him, it's warm in the chamber, and the light is strangely dim, like it's shining through a veil.

"You are a strange man." She states. "An utterly and thoroughly strange man."

"You are a strange woman." He parrots, but his smile grows. "I suppose we'll make good partners, hm?"

"I won't be your partner."

"Ah, dear, you should realize your position." He finally opens his eyes. His, so pale and so intense, versus hers, a color matching a bright blue sky. "I've already allowed you your freedom. A freedom no one else can lay claim to. All I asked in return was two very simple things."

Two things.

Two simple, simple things.

The first of which she accomplished through her marriage to him.

The second…

She sighs. Then she glares at him, her resolve fiery and harsh. There is no mountain too high she'd not climb, there is no desert too hot she'd not cross. For there is a drive behind her, the same drive that's pushed her and pushed her year after year. More, more, more, a greed consuming itself. If she must give something up, then she'll demand something equal, if not better, in return. She decides that even if it makes her a pariah, she'll bleed Elder David Jehoahaz Abraham dry of all his uses; she'll feed off his genius and his evil, and she'll take what is promised to her with both hands.

If she can reach her dreams through him, then marrying him is a small price. If she can change this world by using his hands, then bearing a child for him is nothing.

 _He asked for my hand and for my womb._

The voices are quiet, but she can feel their anxious anticipation. Like they are watching something awesomely powerful take place before their eyes.

"If I'm going to give you a baby, I demand my part of the deal comes to fruition first." He offers his hand, and she takes it. She sits beside him, staring firmly at the opening doors of the chambers with her resolve in mind. Even as he intertwines their fingers and whispers to her,

"Try to be nice. It'll be good if they love you. Then they'll accept our marriage and child much easier."

...

He's right; she's free, but she's also his.

Which is why she keeps his words in mind throughout the meeting. She says nothing as the Elders bicker and make speeches and study her out of the corner of their eyes. She does nothing but look pretty and inspect each of them like the furniture in the chamber she had studied.

A few she decides are useful, a couple are just crazy, and some of them have already decided to hate her. She does not pass judgement on those who hate her, but rather makes sure to research them further to determine their threat level and deal with them accordingly. The crazies she'll leave to her husband. And the useful few…

At the end of the meeting, she stands with David, hand still caught in his, and gives the useful ones a smile charged with kindness.

She'll make sure not to spend them _too_ carelessly.

* * *

 _I cannot exactly see the Rukh._

 _When I stand before God, it's all clear. I can touch a bird made of pure white and embrace one of darkness. There is nothing I cannot do when I am before the God I was meant to be, watching Him wither away to his knees under my gaze. There is also nothing I cannot see at those times. I remember distinctly the day I caught a glimpse of my future wife._

 _I had raged secretly for three months after that, my stomach knotted in acidic coils. True, I had always known that there was something greater meant for me, but once I realized that I needed a_ son _to do that? I begged with the heavens to allow me to just impregnate a woman. It would be so much more simple, if I could do that. I would not be betraying the only two people I_ vowed _not to betray._

 _But Illah hates me for what I've done, and thus He condemned me with the vision of a cold, beautiful woman who would become my wife._

 _That was three hundred years ago._

 _I've waited and waited and waited some more for her to appear, knowing full well that nothing could continue until that woman was before me at an alter and then laying in my bed. I suppose I hated Bathsheba for a while. Then, after watching her, after observing her..._

 _[written with a light, drifting hand] Then I did not anymore._

 _But you know, Bathsheba, I'll understand you soon. I shall climb inside of your mind and see what makes you so defiant in the face of Fate, and I shall copy you. I shall grow off of your divine, special magic. I just hope that our son does not inherit that trait. It would do me no good should he go off the holy script prepared for us trillions of years ago, when this universe was sculpted together by a cruel and unusual God._

* * *

"Did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"About the Queen, obviously."

"No, why?"

"Well...She's odd."

"How so?"

"She...She fights _for_ the other species."

"...Huh?"

"That's why they call her the _beast queen_ , you know."

* * *

Merab had heard the rumors, but she doesn't believe them.

But Jonathan does, and that is enough for her husband to convince her that they have to meet with her, even if it's just once. If a woman can be so merciful on the other species that she's dubbed the beast-queen, then how can she refuse them? A struggling couple on the brink of financial collapse- not to mention members of her own species.

"There's no way she'll say no," Jonathan takes her hands in his, gripping them. He's so desperate, as if what he's saying means the world. It does, though, because this is their last choice. "Besides, I took her course in college! Maybe...Maybe she'll remember me."

"Honey," Merab knows her husband. He is not overconfident, but rather over-hopeful. So full of gusto and energy that he took all their chances with everything he had. But they slipped away from them like sand between their fingers.

"If we can get on stable footing," Jonathan starts, kissing her knuckles, "Then we can finally have the baby we've been wanting. Please, Merab, support me on this. I'll do all the talking."

"I know, honey." She feels so terrible, because there was no way that Queen Bathsheba would ever, ever, take their request. She's married to _Elder David,_ for Illah's sake! There's no hope for them to get her attention. Except, when they stand in the crowd outside the palace with all the other beggars hoping to catch the fancy of the Elders, Merab distinctly remembers catching a piercing blue gaze. A woman passing by the window, her eyes straight forward. Then she stops, and snaps her head toward the gates.

Merab's breathing stops, her heart flutters.

Because in that moment, she's discovered by Queen Bathsheba Jehoahaz Abraham, and her life changes. And her husband's life changes. And her son's does too, but she won't know that for many, many years.

* * *

 _"Bathsheba, they're staring."_

Bathsheba stops walking. She looks out the window, and catches the gaze of a woman. The beggar breaths in suddenly, reaching out to her side to grasp her husband's hand. The man looks up too, dumbstruck. Bathsheba recognizes the man, he was one of her students. A nice young man with great potential- but he isn't a magician. His mind is that of an epic scholar, but there is no hope for him. After all, he's a _normal_ person. There are no places in a magician's world for a magic-less human.

By the condition of his and his wife's clothes, she can tell that her words had come true in the worst possible way. But he still grasps his wife's hand tightly, lovingly.

It makes Bathsheba pause.

"Do you wish…?"

"Arba?"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Please...Go get those two and bring them to me."

"Why, if I may ask?"

"..." Bathsheba laughs to herself. "Because I'm a sap."

 _"And because we asked?"_

 _Do not pretend like you have no sway over me._

 _"Thank you, Bath."_

* * *

"He doesn't like you," David warns, hand on Bath's back. She wants to smack him for letting his hand drift too low, but she's supposed to be the "harmless wife". For now. Later, however, she'll make sure he knows that she _won't_ take that sort of treatment from anyone; including the all-powerful husband she married.

"Oh joy," She tells him. She's beaming, faking the affection that her new "job" entails. "I love meeting the Elders. They're all so...Quaint."

David chuckles quietly, leading her to the man. He's old, like all the others, but unlike the others he appears middle aged. His wrinkles aren't too deep and are mostly concentrated around his eyes and on his forehead. Ah, she remembers him. He's the one whose mouth literally dropped when she refuted the new bill to increase the workload of the Mirai and got David's support on the matter. She had placed him in the "useful" category, but after that meeting she shifted him into a "hates her" slot.

"My King," The Elder bows, his head low. Then he eyes her and adds, "And my lovely Queen. I am quite impressed with your vast knowledge on the other species. It's...Refreshing."

Meaning he hates her, hates her, hates her. And he thinks she's the "beast queen" those at the university always called her. Of course, any interest in the other species at all can cause suspicion and hatred, which is why she was often mocked for her position as Chief Species Analyst. Still, his tone of voice is enough to make her shackles rise.

 _He's a dangerous man._

"I don't believe I've caught your name," Bathsheba smiles at him, faking genuine kindness. "Your ingenuity amazes me."

"Elder Joab," David informs her, the first time speaking in this exchange. He's grinning, looking between his Queen and his Councilman with obvious interest; almost expecting a fight to break out. But she doesn't allow that to happen, at least not so soon, and squeezes David's arm.

"Darling," She starts, throwing a pet name in his face. "I see Elder Jacob over there. I would wish to speak with him on his recent publications."

"Whatever you wish, dear." He says his goodbye to Joab before walking away with Bathsheba. "I like 'darling'."

"I'll change it, then."

"Haha."

* * *

Joab has been watching the Queen.

She's beautiful, that's for sure. But he knows David, he's _known_ David for centuries; since the beginning of this church. David doesn't care for physical beauty, though a normal man would salivate over the cold perfection Bathsheba is blessed with in her long, silky hair and big, azure eyes.

David doesn't care for personal relationships. Every now and then he takes a woman to his bed, and he has been seeing Bathsheba's handmaid for years, but never does he initiate a real romance. Then again, the Elders feel the same, and it's mainly because women are just too hard to care for. After thirty years with a wife, things just get...Boring. It's hard to care for them and care for the church, so many Elders sacrifice their marriages for their work.

So it was quite the shock when one day, out of the blue, David said he was getting married. All the King had did was walk up to him, ask about a meeting that day, and then casually say that he had met a woman and that he was going to marry her. Joab nearly had a heart attack with the suddenness. He had questioned David thoroughly, but he had just said that it was fate and nothing else.

Joab can't understand it. Even after days studying the Queen, he can't comprehend the change in David's personality. Bathsheba is smart and clever, she coats her words in sugar and her smile in honey. She makes herself a model of perfection to women everywhere with her apparent compassion and grace. But Bathsheba is also sly and manipulative and too passionate for her own good. She fights for what she wants with fiery words and double meanings. Joab could spend an eternity wondering why David would pick her out of all women, but it all comes down to one simple question:

Bathsheba is nothing like Abigail.

So why did David marry her?

* * *

Chapter 7: done!

Thank y'all for reading, the plot is beginning to move (took forever thought lol). SO, Bath starts siting in on council meetings as promised to her by David! And she reveals the truth between their pact: she can have liberal freedoms, he can have a child. Also Merab & Jonathan are introduced, as well as the deceitful Joab. What shall happen next to our Bathsheba?

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	8. Chapter 8: Arba

Hey pals! Thank you for everyone who reviewed! I feel so special ^.^ Sorry I didn't reply to all of them, I've had a busy few weeks.

QUESTIONS:

 **Who is Abigail?:** Heh, can't say _quite_ yet. But I'll have you know that she is one of the two people that David cannot betray

 **Who are the two people David cannot betray?:** *smirks* If I told you it'll ruin all the fun of David's character development in which I make you love him before ripping out your hearts. :)

 **do you know, i always have a weird thought everytime i read david & bath's interaction. i always try to imaging sinbad in david's place and see how he will react and think about someone like bathsheba. will he acting like david or will he be more dramatic (expresive) ?: **Me too! It's hard to say, I feel as though Sinbad would be able to cleverly banter with Bathsheba (like David can) but I doubt he'd be as creepy about it and definitely more expressive if he disagrees with her. I'm not sure if I'll go into the canon timeline...We'll have to just see how the rest of Catharsis pans out, hm? ;)

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 8: Arba

* * *

"...What about you?"

A small smile.

"What about me, Mistress?" The rose in her mistress's hand is a pale white, the same pure color as the dress she wore at her wedding. The memory of lacing up the corset makes her fingers twitch. Two eyes, like two drops of the sky, turn to her. The smile she receives is so nice and warm it almost makes her falter.

"Anything, Arba." Arba takes this in, hands behind her back. She watches Queen Bathsheba push back a lock of hair, hair that Arba kneaded and pulled into place painstakingly just hours before the marriage ceremony. She had ran her hands through the blue strands so much she thought her palms would be stained the color.

She finds herself wondering who had undone the hairstyle. It was a complicated knot of braids and twists, clipped back with a golden hair ornament. It took forever to create, but Arba knows it could've been undone in a second by mere motion of a hand. Bath's hair had been loose the next day, slightly wavy from the braids, but Arba didn't ask whether or not she took it out herself. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer had Bathsheba even mouthed the word "no".

"I was born from a magician who was implanted with two artificial children. My sister and I were then taken into the custody of the church and raised to become the ever-loyal and ever-present servants of the King." Arba lowers herself into a kneel. She has given this spiel before, so many times she doesn't remember the first time her lips spoke the words. Automatically she presents a cheery smile. "I was born to ensure the safety and protection of not only you and your family, but of the whole Church. Every child of God is a brother of mine."

A hand cups her cheek, bringing her face upwards.

"Where is your sister?" Arba's mouth opens, and she blinks several times.

"I'm...Not sure. It's common for artificial magicians to be bred with a twin."

"Do you miss her?"

"..." Did she? Arba wonders. Maybe. Sometimes it felt like it'd be nice to have someone around to talk to. Instead, she shakes her head. "No."

"...I miss my brother." Bathsheba heads toward the next plant, eyes already shining and hands already eager to cup another rose. "I wish I could see him again...But perhaps that's not to be."

* * *

"Come, Arba," The voice is old and strict, coming from the young woman's mentor. Her hand is forcefully gripped as she's pulled forward, even though Arba isn't hesitant. She's walking as fast as she can, teenage dreams coming to fruition. She has always thought about the day she'd see the Elders for the first time, was allowed to finally become a servant for one of them. If she is lucky enough...No, she shakes her head. She shouldn't expect too much.

But wild, wonderful dreams plague her, and she's smiling by the time she and her teacher reach the grand hall.

Then she sees him for the first time.

Elder David.

Everything about him is...Breathtaking. His smile, his grace, his wisdom. His eyes which fly over the heads of everyone else in the room and land...On her. They stay on her, no matter how much she lowers her gaze. It makes her blush, because he's so handsome and she's so young.

Later, after that meeting, she becomes an attendant of Elder David.

And then she sees him everyday.

And then she talks to him for the first time.

And then she finally sees his cocky grin turn into a sincere smile.

(And then she falls in love with him.)

* * *

"Mistress?"

"Yes, Arba?"

Arba wants to say something. It's on the tip of her tongue. It's flicking like a whip over her mind. Though Bath's eyes are still stuck to the paper she's reading, she tilts her head to show she's listening.

But that question disappears.

Maybe it was, _"Do you love him like I do?"_ Or, _"Is it strange if we're friends?"_

Neither makes it past her lips.

 _Did 5 weeks with you change him more than 5 decades with me?_

"How did the meeting go?"

Bathsheba looks up at her then. Arba knows the look in those eyes, the quick, millisecond-long look of disappointment. Like Bath knows, but was hoping Arba would have the courage to say it aloud. Then it's gone and Arba's convincing herself it was just her imagination.

"Well, Elder Joab tried to reject my new plans to implement better working conditions for the other species, but I pulled a passage out from Elder Nash's 'famous' book and turned them against each other." Bathsheba gives a wry smile, a smile of a friend. "It was entertaining."

Arba finds herself smiling at the other woman.

She stops.

"You shouldn't be rude to the Elders, milady," Arba softly advises. "They are the respected and loved leaders of the church."

"Yes, I'm aware." The Queen waves her hand as if blowing off the words of her attendant. Then her hand is taking hers and she's smiling brightly. "But isn't it funny?"

It is, and Arba likes it.

She likes it a lot, and it makes her feel completely guilty. Because she isn't being truthful to Bathsheba. Because she is letting her kind mistress believe that Arba is on her side.

Because she's in love with her mistress's husband.

* * *

 _She's stealing my magician, and I don't like it._

 _Bathsheba is so devious sometimes. Taking what isn't hers and blatantly disregarding my wishes. But I married her for a reason, and I will have to accept my wife's habits if I want Fate to continue forward in it's divinely inspired path. In truth, the best course of action will be to bless her with a child sooner rather than later; so that she'll relax for her infant._

 _But Fate is not kind, and as Bathsheba continues to tell me, I must complete my side of the bargain first. Hopefully I won't have to wait too much longer. I am a patient man, but it's hard sleeping next to a beautiful woman night after night without being able to touch her._

 _Ah, that didn't sound like something the "pure king" would say. Oops._

* * *

"Elder David?"

"Ah, Arba."

 _The first time David kissed Arba, she was twenty-five years old._

"I came as soon as you asked me to."

"Good."

 _He took her virginity when she was twenty-six._

"What is it you need, milord?"

"I'm glad you asked, Arba. There's someone important coming to the palace."

 _She realized she was in love with him was when she was thirty._

"Who's that?"

"Her name is Bathsheba. I'll need you to become her lady-in-waiting."

 _She accepted the fact that as long as she was his mistress, she'd never have a child at forty._

"Of course. Is she...Troublesome, milord?"

"Hah, you have no idea."

 _David asked her to spy on certain magicians and report back to him at forty-four._

"How long is she staying here for?"

"Hm? Oh, forever."

 _She killed a man who tried to hurt him at sixty-four._

"Haha...What do you mean…?"

"Isn't it obvious? Bathsheba is going to become my Queen. I'm marrying her."

 _When David asked Arba to become the servant of his beautiful wife, she was seventy-three._

* * *

Chapter 8: done!

Poor Arba *sigh*. You know, she's not actually insane in this story...Yet. But you can sorta see where the root of her problems begin to play; her deep devotion to David conflicting with her sudden affections toward Bath (the voices don't lie: soon you'll see how much Arba loves Bath).

I also feel bad for Jonathan, he had his own chapter like this ^^^ but I cut it a few days ago. Instead I lumped the sections of his chapter into a bunch of other chapters. I mean...If you _want_ him to have his own chappie I can write it, but it really is mostly character development/world building/minor plot building. ALSO HOLY SHIT GUYS THERE IS MAJOR DEVELOPMENTS NEXT CHAPTER. Get ready for the plot to start moving... _And for the players to start rolling the dice of fate._ (Oh god shivers!)

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	9. Chapter 9: God

Hey y'all! I'm posting a new chapter because I realize that the "character development" chapters can be less than exciting in contrast the plot. Plus _God_ are these chapters easy to write! I'm already working on chapter 12!

Also...Something happens, guys...!

* * *

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 9: God

* * *

"Elders of my council,"

He's the pure king. A man who, though he's dressed in black, is bathed in white. His heart is strong and sturdy, his mind unbiased and unbreaking.

"It's made me a happy man to know I've always had you all by my side."

Joab has known him for longer than anyone else. Joab has talked with him, walked with him, learned with him. Joab has been one of his pillars holding together all their dreams. He'll never fight against his King.

"Which is why it's exhilarated me beyond belief that you've welcomed my Queen with open arms."

Joab, along with a fourth of the council, inwardly cringe at the mention of Lady Bathsheba. As if she knows this, Bathsheba meets his gaze, almost like she's going to relish the look on his face once David finishes talking.

Joab scowls.

What did the witch do this time? Get David to bend the rules to allow for her stowaways to live in the palace? Convince him to refute a bill? Persuade the King through use of her womanly wiles to cause him to be lax with a species?

 _I'll never accept her._

A burning resolve.

 _Never._

"Now, my dear friends, I ask you to accept yet another into our fold."

Bathsheba's eyes haven't moved from his face. She no longer looks smug. She doesn't appear like the harmless trophy wife she pretends to be. She looks blank.

Like she's so caught up in something that she can't see anything in front of her. For a moment he sees a hint of pain, a flash of wispy desire, an echo of resignation. Then the Bathsheba he knows and hates is back, smiling slightly at the back of David's head. Joab contemplates her look, picks it apart with both hands.

If she had gotten something from David, then she'd have a certain gleam in her eye, a spark hidden behind her calm facade. Instead she seems slightly against whatever her husband decided.

Joab's lips twist upwards. Good. About time the beast queen gets knocked down a peg. Perhaps David is finally realizing what everyone else does: that having her as Queen was a mistake. Maybe he'll grow tired of her and get rid of-

"My dear friends, please, rejoice!" David takes Bathsheba's hand to pull her forward. "My lovely wife, Lady Bathsheba, is pregnant!"

* * *

 _I haven't exactly wanted a child._

 _Bathsheba perhaps did...Later in life. Either way, I suppose it doesn't matter. After years of watching my future bride, of playing games, of trying to pry my way into her mind...She's finally doing what I've always knew she'd do. What she was_ meant _to do._

 _My son shall be born soon._

 _Then the final leg of this tough journey will finally play out._

* * *

"Hey, David?"

The office is dark. Outside the clouds cry long and hard, tapping against anything they can: the roof, the windows, the grass, the trees. David doesn't seem to mind, dragging his quill across a piece of paper under the light of an unwavering candle. Across from his desk, sitting in a large, comfortable chair, Bathsheba faces the window. She strokes her enlarged stomach, a pregnancy belly David takes a minute to admire.

"Yes?"

"May I name the child?"

He contemplates this. He had not thought she'd want to name the baby, though he hadn't cared enough to think up any himself. But he realizes now that, even though she barely tolerates him, she does love their child with all her heart.

"If you want," He responds, placing his chin on his palm. "What are you thinking of?"

"...I have a boy and a girl name picked out." Her eyes are softer than they usually are, her shoulders more relaxed. It makes him quiet, because he doesn't want to ruin the rare moment of perfect calm his wife sometimes allows him to see.

"Did you want a child?"

"I'm not sure," Bathsheba responds. Her hand still makes a slow, loving movements over the hill where her baby grows. "I suppose I always knew I'd have one."

She looks over to him.

"What is it?"

"...Nothing." But something's bothering her now, he can tell by the way her lips purse together. It's the same look she gets whenever someone tells her something she doesn't want to hear. "Just a cosmic joke, I suppose."

"Everything is." He agrees.

* * *

 _I've betrayed many people in my life._

 _My friends, my subordinates, the magicians in my armies._

 _Betraying them sometimes felt thrilling or exciting. But being a traitor scoops out large portions of your soul, as if God is feasting on the sweet pain of us weak humans. Yet even I, a traitor, have certain limitations. There are two people whom I promised, almost eight hundred years ago, to never, ever betray. Two single people. It should've been easy to keep that promise._

 _But with Bathsheba and the son within her, I, a traitor, have done what I vowed with my whole heart not to._

 _It's the first time in many long years that I've felt [a lengthy, wordy section entirely blacked out]._

 _[At the bottom of the page, written in tiny, sloppy letters] Can I be forgiven by them?_

* * *

There is a room in the palace no one is allowed to enter except for Elder David.

It's an isolated spot placed behind secretive hallways and twisting turns, a small room that, unless you've been there before, you cannot find. David, on the contrary, could find it in his sleep, and sometimes he does. The atmosphere is darker than midnight, the halls seem to echo with ghostly murmurs. And, when you aren't looking, you see flashes of movement in your peripheral.

That's why the contrast between the demonic outside and the inside of the room is shocking.

The room isn't entirely a sacred place, but there is a special quality to it that emits a calming, peaceful feeling. There's no alter nor holy book, no prayer beads or any painted third eye. There is, however, paintings.

Many, many paintings.

Some are of places, others are of people. Open paint cans lay either on top of the three long tables pressed against each wall of the room or on shelves above them. A few are neat and unopened, but many have drippings falling over the sides and lay in dried, colorful pools. Blank canvases are tucked underneath the tables, stacked up and waiting, while the ones that are used lean against the walls or are hung up or sit on easels. There's no part of the room that's not splattered with paint- from floor to ceiling- except for the large bay window looking out at the long green plains around the capital.

It's the only place in the entire room that's untouched. There are pillows and a blanket waiting for use, but no one has used them in a long time- not to mention David.

Across from this bay window, a portrait of a woman sits waiting for attention on an easel. Once you notice this woman, your senses stop for a moment. She sports short, soft looking blond curls, a color that seems to catch the light and change to a shimmering gold. Her face isn't fleshy nor thin, a blend of both that draws attention to the lovely high cheekbones underneath her doe-like eyes, covered in thick yet pale lashes. Half her hair is pulled up and pinned with a silver hairclip that matches the flower-shaped locket around her neck. She's smiling slightly, looking gentle and loving and _worshipped_.

If one was to look for more paintings of her, all that needs to be done is to glance up. Then her image will start to appear throughout the artwork produced in the workshop, staring at you with gray eyes. Which leads to a question: why is Elder David so obsessed with this woman?

But that story is for another day.

* * *

"What do you think about God?" Bathsheba sighs, looking over at him. David's laying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"Really?" She asks, glaring. "This is what you like to talk about after…"

She gestures to his bare chest and her mussed hair. He doesn't look at her, but grins smugly at the ceiling.

Bathsheba sighs once more. She pulls the covers up and answers,

"I think God exists."

"That's not what I asked."

"Of course not." She rolls her eyes. "I don't know what you want me to say. I think he's all-powerful? I think we should give up our lives for him?"

"Those are the Church's teachings."

"I'm aware."

"Oh, you're a cold woman," David laughs, finally gazing into her face. His eyes lock onto hers. "Why did I marry such a cold woman?"

"Maybe God made you."

"Well, there's no question about that," Now _he_ rolls _his_ eyes. It's an unfamiliar gesture, and she's slightly offended. "But I could've said no, chosen a different path...Not that wouldn't have lead me to you somehow. Instead I went along with it."

Bathsheba's quiet.

"Do you do everything your mind tells you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you ever feel like your heart wants to do something else, but you just won't do it?"

"...All the time."

"So, once more, what do you think about God?"

"..." Bathsheba uses her hands to rake back her long hair. She twists it a few times and then sets it back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as well. "I think that God is a wonderful and hateful being, if he's the reason I don't get to feel."

David's hand searches through the sheets of their bed to find hers, and grips it. She does not react even though she'd like to rip her hand away from him. She does not react because, maybe, God doesn't want her to.

"Yes, God is hateful," David whispers. "This God is hateful. Wouldn't it be nice if we could create a perfect world where no one has to suffer…?"

"..." She doesn't respond because she's not sure what he's talking about, and also not sure if she really wants to know. David's comment disintegrates into the night air until there's no trace it was even uttered.

Then he blows out the candles.

* * *

YAY! So, Davie announces Bath's pregnancy! And we're starting to go more deeply into Davie and Bath's relationship, David's many secrets, and Joab's feelings! How exciting. Hope y'all liked it!

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	10. Chapter 10: Ester

Hey! How's life been? I'm finally updating, y'all!

 **Questions:**

 **Is it me or are David and Bathsheba bstaring to become close or have an attachment to each other?** No...It's not just you *smirks*. I'm aiming for them to eventually grow into a relationship where they can air their complaints easily with one another, but have a hard time understanding the other's goals and motivations. Overtime they'll grow closer but...Well, you'll see. Their relationship is supposed to be a very complex one, so please bear with me!

 **Who is that woman in the painting?** It's a secret! But you'll eventually know; don't worry, I don't plan on introducing many more characters. It _is_ someone I've already mentioned, so...

That being said, allow me to introduce a new character!

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 10: Ester

* * *

Ester was never foolish.

She believes in many things, but she never believed in love. She figured, for the longest time, that it was people's stupid rationalization for why they felt attracted to another person. If you love someone then it's okay to feel that way. It's not animalistic, barbaric, or _foolish_ at all.

But then, in a twist of fate, she fell in love.

He was a stupid, not-that-great-looking guy. His nose was crooked and his eyebrows thick, but he had nice, straight teeth and the gentlest hands. He picked her flowers from the meadow outside of the Gunud he worked in, bringing them to her every time he returned to the city as an apology for having to work so far away.

After a while, she gave up trying not to absolutely adore him. At the age of twenty-five, she married that idiot man, and she loved him.

He never raised his voice at her, he never hit her. He treated her with love, affection and tenderness, not to mention he was always considerate of her feelings. She always hated herself a little for not being as good to him, so to make up for it she tried to be as great a wife as possible.

But not all people are perfect like him, and like most married couples do, she had a bad fight with him. It was spring of last year, she remembers now. She was upset because he was going to back to the Gunud again- this time for a whole six months. They fought because Ester hated being alone with their baby daughter for long stretches of time- it made her feel insecure and pressured, especially since she already was unsure of her qualifications as a parent.

He left, she smarted, their daughter learned to crawl and say "selfish man".

They would tell her later that he died picking flowers.

They would tell her that if he had been inside when the Gunud's magic malfunctioned and made the Nanawei go off the handle, he would've been fine. But because he got his supervisor to let him go home to see his wife, he was outside picking her an apology gift from the gardens he grew himself with the orphans. He was mawled by the fierce claws of blue demons.

Ester knows that she murdered her husband.

If _she_ had let him go he wouldn't have felt the need to nag his supervisor to let him come back. He wouldn't have been outside picking flowers for _her_. Then he would've been _safe_ , and returned to her and their daughter

But he's never coming back. His little girl is fatherless. His wife is a widow.

That's how she meets Bathsheba Jehoahaz Abraham, by crying over the floor she's supposed to be washing.

Ester was never foolish.

She isn't now.

Which is why she mans up and hides her sobs, trying to become invisible as the woman passes her. But the so-called beast queen slows down and stops by her side, the attendant following her patiently waiting off to the side.

Ester breathes in deeply as Lady Bathsheba kneels by her side, wincing. Just her luck. Now she's going to get fired for being unprofessional, and her husband's ghost will haunt her for being unable to take care of-

A hand drops onto her head.

"I see…" The blue-haired woman murmurs. "Come with me."

Ester killed her husband.

She's a terrible mother.

And she's not a fool.

But the same sense of _need_ fills her like when she felt the _need_ to love her husband. A force that compels her very being and tugs against the rationality of her beliefs.

Hesitantly, Ester follows Bathsheba.

* * *

As Ester soon finds out, Lady Bathsheba is pregnant, in her second trimester.

That explains the loose robes and swollen stomach. Since she hadn't gotten a good look at the Queen before following her, Ester had incorrectly assumed she was just fat. Now she knows the truth, and tries her best not to look stupid in front of the most powerful and influential woman in the world.

"Why were you crying?"

In a moment, all her cares slip away. Bathsheba sits beside her on a coach, wrapping a warm arm around her shoulders.

"...My husband's dead…" Ester murmurs. "Today's the anniversary…"

"I see." The woman squeezes her in the half-hug, head dipped in respect for the dead. "What else?"

"My daughter…" Ester sobs. "I don't have enough money to feed the both of us…!"

Bathsheba's other arm raises up and swaddles the younger woman in an embrace.

"Life isn't always nice."

"You can say that again…" She murmurs bitterly, her eyes closing as she allows herself to lean against the warmth the older woman possesses. Her eyes slowly close, feeling like, for the first time, she's finally as safe as she was when she laid in her husband's arms.

Why is she doing this? Why is she allowing a woman she barely knows to embrace her?

 _Why does it feel like she cares?_

"What was his name?"

"Tian," Ester whispers, revering. "He was from, like, the far east. He always-"

Her voice stops, stuck once more.

Bathsheba lightly clucks, like a mother, and gently pats Ester's hand.

"Will you sing for me?" Bath asks, softly. Ester, if she had been less hungry and less miserable, might've questioned her how she knows about her one talent. Instead, the poor woman opens her mouth and sings.

She's useless in the kitchen, and can't sew, and only has a pretty face to bargain with, but ever since she was a child she knew she could sing. It was a gift that she wrapped up in secretive isolation and shielded with love. Now she lets it loose, filling the room with long, sorrowful notes full of her sadness and despair. It tells a story, _her_ story, from beginning to end. By the time she finishes, Bathsheba's eyes are closed and her lips are parted in amazement.

"What is your job currently?"

"Maid." Ester admits, ashamed. She, with a young daughter, hardly should be away for such a long time working in the palace. But there were no other choices for a housewife being forced into the labor force.

"I see." Bathsheba sits up, hand over her stomach, and pats Ester's head. "No more."

"Huh?"

"You're now my handmaid." The Queen rises. She smiles softly at Ester's shocked face. "Bring your daughter here. Arba has already made plans to give you your first paycheck."

It takes Ester a moment to realize she's crying.

"Thank you," She newly-made handmaid melts to her knees, tears falling down her cheeks. _"Thank you."_

* * *

"Mommy?" Ester picks up her daughter, spinning her around. The child squeals and giggles, putting her little hands over her little mouth.

"Sweetheart, Mommy has, like, a job!"

"A job?" The three year old wrinkles her nose. "Where?"

Ester clucks, kissing her daughter's forehead.

"The _Palace_."

She gasps.

"With the King and Queen, aru?"

"Mhm. I work for the Queen."

"Wow!"

Ester looks down at her child. Such a beautiful thing, with her father's emerald eyes. She inherited her mother's orange hair, which she has tied in pigtails with white ribbons. Ester smiles, kissing her baby's forehead.

"I love you, Falan."

Falan looks up, happily surprised by her mother's sudden words.

"I love you too, aru."

* * *

Yay~! I updated~!

AND YES EVERYONE, BABY FALAN HAS APPEARED! I bet you thought I was introducing another character solely for Bathsheba's character development, didn't you?! Jk but Ester will have an impact on Bath later on. This chapter was mostly just introducing another character and also expanding a bit more on the lives of the magicians in Alma Torran. No biggie~~~ The next chapter is a bit more development, more plot movement, and the beginning of the count-down towards the birth of Bath's baby! So excited~!

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	11. Chapter 11: Light

Oh my God. AP testing kicked my buttocks. I think I'm gonna go cry/nap/write some more...

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 11: Light

* * *

"What?! Another meeting? Don't those bastards know you're pregnant?" Ester's words are fiery, overprotective, and annoyed. "The Elders, like, are totally ignorant of everyone else."

"Ester, dear…" Bathsheba lightly chides her, hand stroking her stomach. "The baby can hear you."

"Huh? Oh. Oops." Ester's cheeks lightly color as she gazes down at her mistress's swollen belly. "I, like, keep forgetting you're gonna pop."

Bathsheba laughs at her handmaid's words, finding the woman's attitude to be refreshing from the endless parade of polite, proper people at the palace. It brings her back to the days when she was a professor smiling cheekily at her students and friends during an expedition. She hasn't studied the latest studies using strength magic, actually. Maybe she should start researching again…

 _"Here comes the rival."_

 _Hm?_

Arba appears by Bathsheba's side, startling the pregnant woman.

"Mistress!" Arba lovingly says, before glaring at Ester on her other side. "How's your walk been?"

"Good," She says soothingly, now sensing the tension between her handmaids. She has increasingly become more aware of Arba and Ester's competition, and slowly began to create a hypothesis on _why_.

Arba is a magician born to be a perfect servant and guard to her. Ester is a normal woman without any training being placed into the same position as Arba. It's not all a matter of qualification and pride, Bathsheba knows, but also a mix of emotions toward their mistress. Arba wants Bath to be well taken care of, especially while pregnant, and is jealous of Ester's relationship with her. Ester also wants Bath to live a good life, but feels inferior to Arba, who performs her duties perfectly.

Bathsheba purses her lips.

"Arba, Ester?"

"Yes?"

"I have a suggestion." Bath's hands fist in her lap, looking at her handmaids with determination and intensity, preparing herself. She has read in books about this sort of thing, but has never done it herself. "We should go shopping."

The two other women stare for a while.

And burst out laughing.

Bathsheba's cheeks color awkwardly as she tries to understand what she did wrong.

"I-I've read that the best way for females to become friends is to share common interests!" She bursts out. "Should we go shopping, we can learn more about one another…"

"Mistress…" Arba giggles hysterically, a strange sound from the normally soft-spoken servant.

"Aw, Mistress," Ester teasingly pinches Bathsheba's arm. "You, like, have never had a female friend, huh? That's adorable, aru."

"I was just trying to…" Arba and Ester both go to their Mistress's side, each taking an elbow.

"Shh, it's okay," Arba coos as Ester sagely clucks,

"We'll get you out of the sun, aru."

* * *

"So, this is where you've been hiding."

The voice travels through the library with a hint of reminiscent humor and a touch of melancholy. The gentle rays of sun streaming through the window do not seem like a lot of light to work with, but a man still sits hunched over a desk, hand moving frantically over paper. He stops himself, looking over at his side with a bit of wonder and a splash of surprise.

"W-what're you doing here?"

"Can't an old friend come see where their co-worker ended up?" The other participant of the conversation, another male, comes to desk and smiles at the man behind it. "It's nice to see you again, Ugo."

"Yeah," Ugo says, before quickly standing up and trying in vain to straighten out his clothes and fix his messy braid. "Yeah! Wow, I haven't seen you and almost a year, Nathan."

Nathan nods his head, pulling out a chair and sitting in it. Around the two, books and papers are piled up to the brink of falling. The crumpled rejects sit in mountain-shaped mounds near a small, overflowing trashcan. Nathan ignores these facts, green eyes trained on Ugo from underneath his brown bangs.

"I have come for a reason."

Ugo's smile fades.

"Is it about Bathsheba?" He asks softly, his smile now a memory on his face. "How is she?"

"Well." Nathan answers, before pausing. He seems to struggle for a moment before adding- admitting- "She's pregnant."

Ugo's eyes snap up. Nathan bows his head. The brown-haired magician hadn't thought he'd be the one to inform Ugo of this news; the man is, now, working at the Royal Library. How a hermit like Ugo got admitted is unthinkable to Nathan, but has a suspicion that the Queen may have secretly pulled some strings once finding out her old companion applied for a job there.

"I'm sor...What I'm here for isn't just about Bathsheba."

But Ugo's still stuck in the moment Nathan revealed Bathsheba's pregnancy. What should be a happy thing brings him nothing but pitiful, unrestrained sadness. He manages to say,

"What are you here for?"

"..." Nathan looks steadily at Ugo, still caught off guard by the revelation. "I know it seems like those days back at the university seem unreal."

He waits for Ugo to nod.

"They seem fake...Too perfect. How was it possible that I was able to change my mind on so many things that quickly? I keep running over my memories, trying to remember how exactly I felt when I saw the other species. I don't even remember. I know I hated them, but I can't imagine hating them now. It's like everything's changed, but no one else has." Nathan takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. "What I'm trying to say is that I know Bathsheba feels the same. That's why she married David, to find a way into power and change this corrupt world from the inside out."

"...I-I never thought of it that way." Ugo murmurs, unsure how he feels about this sudden speech.

"I have. I can't stop thinking about it." Nathan stands up, looking at the window letting in the light to the dark library. "It's like this thing keeps on biting me whenever I try to avert my eyes. Like I'm betraying that woman- _my best friend_ \- if I pretend that I don't know what I know."

Shamefully, Ugo looks down at his half-written formula. He can see mistakes in it now, imperfections that can never be salvaged.

"But I _do_ know." Nathan's pacing now, troubled and burdened. His shoulders sink down as his gaze drops to glare at the floor. "Sometimes I hate myself for knowing, but I know. Which is why I've decided to take up Bath's position."

The genius magician looks up at the other, shock written across his face.

"What? You're taking the professorship position?"

"And the Species Analyst job." Nathan says solemnly. "...I'm also taking up a new title as well."

"What kind of title?"

The brown haired man just smiles a bit sardonically, standing behind the chair. He grips the wood of it, hanging his head just slightly.

"Man...Sara hates me for it." He complains, as if everything's normal. "But I...I've decided…"

His eyes, emerald and sharp, look up into the gentle red eyes of Ugo. What the older magician sees there brings him to complete silence as Nathan stands up straight.

 _"To not stop fighting."_

* * *

 _Six months. The child in my wife's womb is six months along. Which leaves three more left over for me to bemoan, but my excitement grows each day. Bathsheba takes her pregnancy with grace, not once complaining about becoming pregnant. She does, however, complain about_ being _pregnant. I never knew a woman to be so free with her aggravations._

 _She also has decided that, in order to disgust me into never sleeping with her again, she'll relay to me every piece of "pregnancy pain" she feels. Swollen feet, aching back, [underlined several times] moodswings. [striked out] I feel as though_ I'm _pregnant._

 _But there are moments in time where I'm tired and she's perched peacefully in the rocking chair in the child's room- Bathsheba insisted we have one ready, in case it's premature- and we spend a while just sitting. Sometimes, if she's not rocking, I'll lay my ear on her stomach and listen. I don't hear anything most of the time, but if I'm patient and Bathsheba puts a hand on top of my head, I can make out a rapid second heartbeat. It's strange, you know, the beauty of that sound. It beats in such a quick tempo that it fills me up with energy, and yet I cannot move as Bathsheba's fingers intertwine with the strands of my hair. Feeling the baby's life fills me up with life, and for a moment, I think about the preciousness of this world and of the lives of others._

 _Then it's dinner time and I forget once more. After all, we're all connected, all one life. We are not singular, nor are we individuals- though it seems that way due to our own passions and whims. Every action one takes affects another, more often than not in a negative way. I must stop that. I must_ correct _that. Bathsheba, I'm certain, will forgive me for doing this; though I know she will disagree, and will stage her own mini-revolt against my ideals while stuck in the gilded cage of the capital._

 _It's so adorable how she always defies God's will. But just watch her try to defy mine._

* * *

"Obligation," Saul bursts out, holding the hand of Bathsheba. The young girl looks up at him with slight confusion, but follows her teacher dutifully as he walks down the street. "You see, little one, we have _obligations_."

"To whom?"

"What a bright question!" He laughs, squeezing the little hand. "You're so bright."

" _Saul_."

"Yes, yes, I'll get onto it." Saul tuts, unhappy his cooing was rejected so harshly by the girl. "We have obligations to everyone and everything in this world."

"What do you mean?"

"We have an obligation to society to behave. We have an obligation to our betters to be respectful. We have an obligation to our parents to thank them for everything they've done for us." Bathsheba's gaze drops. Saul watches it go. "Do you know what I'm telling you this?"

The thirteen year old shakes her head after a moment, not wanting to confront the real reason. Saul decides that if she's going to pass up the opportunity to talk about it, then he'll let her. Most of the time it hurts more when a person knows what you're hiding but doesn't ask about it.

"The other species," Saul announces, lifting his chin.

"H-huh?" Saul smiles dryly down at the girl. She lowers her face to the ground they walk upon once more.

"We also have obligations to the other species. Do you know why there are so little factual books about the other species?"

"No." That seems to strike Bath. "I never thought about writing about them."

"Well, think about it. It's not as though people haven't tried. It's just that we're being censored."

"Censorship?" Bath's mouth falls open. "B-but-"

"What? Do you naively think the Elders of the Church are all holy, righteous men?"

Her jaw clamps shut.

"You just need to find the books that weren't caught in the web. The books written by the people who've recognized their obligations, and tried to bypass the laws of this world."

"What do you mean?" She tilts her head. "Where are these books?"

"The books? They're everywhere, little one! Just look through the tricky light and see what shouldn't be seen. Someday you'll know how to hide them there, under empty names, their meanings hidden inside condescending words." Saul ruffles the child's hair. "And, if you're afraid you'll have to teach yourself, be calm."

He smiles sneakily down at her.

"For I shall teach you!"

* * *

God do you ever just _love_ your OCs with a burning passion? Because I feel that way right now with Ester and Saul. Strangely enough, I want to punch Nathan...But maybe that's because I've written a character that will soon become a catalyst for something much bigger than himself, that may or may not end well...Ah well *WINK XINFINITY*

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	12. Chapter 12: Knowledge

Hellllooooo~~~~ Sorry I'm late, I've had finals and that's taken up a lot of time. For those who worry about my random updating, I encourage you to **look at my profile**. I post updates regularly on story progress so people know I'm still working.

QUESTIONS:

 **You know I really have a very mixed feeling about arba. We all know about her feeling for david and now we also can see she love bathsheba too. and we all know in the manga she betraying solomon. what i want to say is what is she thinking & feeling about how she betraying the son of two people she love. Will you later make a chapter to explain what she feel and thinking about that ? is falan going to be another solomon's childhood friend ? Please please please can you make a fluffy or romantic scene beetween david & bath ? or maybe a bit of jealousy from david? **I will explain Arba's mindset as we go through the story. It'll take time, but soon she'll begin to grow more conflicted about her feelings toward Bathsheba, her kind mistress and David, whom she's in love with. And I'm not exactly planning for Falan and Solomon to be very close as children...Well, you'll see. Oh, and for those who ship BathXDavid...PREPARE YOUR HEARTS.

And guys, Sustisama drew a beautiful picture of Bathsheba! It's gorgeous! Please, go see is on her wattpad page (Sustisama_92) or find the link on my profile ^_^ I'm so happy! Thanks again, Susti!

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 12: Knowledge

* * *

A long time ago, Joab thought that he could understand a person within a moment.

With many, that is true.

When one lives long enough, there is a certain skill they develop. The skill to just... _Know_. Know whether something is the right thing to do, know whether something is the wrong thing to do...Know whether a calculation will bring you success or failure. This knowledge, this incredible skill, has helped Joab through so many rough times. He's no where near as powerful as David is, which is why he has aged into an middle-aged man instead of appearing as youthful as his King, but Joab is far superior to the other clergymen.

He is older, wiser, _smarter_. And he _knows_ Bathsheba.

 _That woman is a snake._

Coiled and ready to pounce. Someone like her, who is sly and manipulative, sends waves of repulsion through the Councilman's body. If the situation was something a little less complicated, Joab would've cut the head off of the snake long before it had the chance to sink it's teeth into David. But that's much too late to do. And now Lady Bathsheba is his Queen.

Joab understands that David is an intelligent, wise man. There is no action that the pure King would take without thorough thought. But David is a _man_. And Joab knows that even the most powerful, wise, and diligent of men can be tricked by a sly woman; Joab's wife from a hundred years ago is such an example.

Yes. That must be it.

His King has been poisoned by the fangs of a viper, and is succumbing to the poison. It's all making sense now, the knowledge spreading through Joab's system the same way the dark flavors of tea seep through clear water. If that's the case, Joab will have pursue his and David's goals furiously by himself against the beast queen's new reforms. He'll be patient, _calm._

Then, the time for the viper to slink back into it's hole will come. David may be angry, but once the fog clears he'll understand everything and congratulate his dutiful and faithful Elder.

 _Joab does everything for his sake, after all._

* * *

 _"I would never criticize the Elders; they are the leaders of this land! What good wold criticism do? But, certainly, I can look at the system with a harsher, more perceptive gaze. After all, if we do not continuously inspect our government, how will we weed out corruption?"_

 _-_ An excerpt from Chapter 4 of _The Role of Man_ , by Saul Gibeath.

* * *

Bathsheba collapses onto her throne, resting her head against the soft cushions. She lets out a long groan, the dull, bruise like pain of her sore back stretching up her spine. Beside her, David sits in a more graceful manner on his throne, smirking at her.

"My back hurts," She whines uncharacteristically, reaching over to hook two fingers in her husband's hoop earring. She harshly pull on David's earring, too distracted with her own pain to notice his. He doesn't stop her, but does wince at each tug.

"Perhaps you should take today off," He suggest pleasantly, almost patronizingly. Bathsheba glares at him, rubbing her baby bump.

"No. If you get a baby, I get these meetings." David sighs, scratching the back of his head.

"You're not fun pregnant, huh?" Surprisingly, she finds herself at a loss of a clever retort. So, instead she pouts and grumbles,

"Shut up."

"You _should_ be careful, my Queen," David lightly warns Bathsheba. "Too much pressure isn't good for the baby."

"Should I take advice from you or the healer?"

"I happen to know my fair share about infants and their development within their mother's womb."

"Please never say that again." He stares at her until she looks up at him with a deep frown. "The way you say 'womb' is creepy."

"..." A small pause before he reveals his teeth to her in a very unattractive smirk. " _Womb_."

She shivers.

" _Illah_ , you're a child."

"As much as I enjoy our banter," He motions to the door with his long golden staff- a Divine Stave, she jealously supplies her mind- and the doors to the meeting room open themselves up. "I believe we have a meeting to start."

She quickly sticks her tongue out at him before sitting up and trying to appear as regal as she can as the Elders file in. In truth taking the day off from meetings does sound great- a chance to lay in bed and wait for her aching spine to relax.

 _"You must keep going."_

 _Yeah. I know._

Bathsheba's sure that the baby understands why it's mother is trying so hard. If not...Well, maybe Bath can explain it, someday. That makes her light up, as if a fire was finally lit in the cold darkness of the night.

 _Maybe I can explain to it how to understand the other species._

 _"Yes."_

 _Maybe I can teach it to want to change this world._

 _"Yes."_

 _Maybe I help it become a truly pure ruler._

A small smile grows on Bathsheba's lips, a smile she hides with a graceful movement of her hand to her lips.

 _"This child_ is _Elder David's heir, after all."_

* * *

"The Mirai are dangerous creatures," Elder Nash so kindly reminds Elder Jacob, his scowl an unforgiving expression. "Humanoids with sunlight at their fingertips; they come the closest to producing magic than any other race."

"I understand that," Jacob replies with the barest hint of not-so-pleasant frustration. He quickly peeks up at his Monarchs, particularly the Queen. His resolve seems to harden as a fresh idea blooms in his mind. "But that's exactly why this new bill is necessary!"

Whispers echo through the chamber as the Elders look at one another.

"Friends, why are we so harsh on the Mirai? They look humanoid, they're graceful, and they bear magic. Shouldn't we take that into account?"

"What are you saying, fool?" Nash growls, gripping his staff. Jacob lifts a hand pleasantly, as if to calm his fellow Elders. Then he strides to the center of the room, smiling at the gathered Councilmen.

"What I'm saying, dear friends, is that it's obviously clear that we can _educate_ the Mirai." Eyebrows are raised, and a lovely smirk graces the Queen's face. "They aren't humans, oh no, of course not, but they're _like_ us. Isn't it obvious that their race must've came to be as an _offshoot_ of humanity? That is why the possess light magic, my friends! They're a race we must nurture into obedient, learned children of God! Not as mere slaves, no, my friends. If we treat lesser yet closely related species as such, how will we treat fellow humans in the future?"

A long, stunned silence. Nash's jaw opens and closes like a fish, several other Elders looking the similar. Jacob looks to his Queen once more, seeing her retain a pleased smile. Beside her, the King has his eyes closed as he thinks this through, but he almost appears amused by Jacob's rebuttal.

"Interesting," David says at last, opening his eyes. "A well-thought out explanation, Elder Jacob."

Jacob smiles and returns to his chair, smugly grinning at his fellow Elders. Some bristle at Jacob's impertinence, others quickly scrambling to think of ways to curry favor with the King's new opinions.

"I believe, friends, that we have entered a new age. Our minds and ideals are changing with every day as we look at aspects of our lives in a new light." David stands, looking down upon his Elders. "I must admit, I am weary of some of these new radical ideas. But should there be no counter-argument, then I shall bow to the will of my wise advisors. The Mirai's work schedule will be reworked, and the discussion on whether or not to continue use of the Gunud's magic shall be discussed later. Dismissed."

The Elders stand and file out of the room, leaving the King and his Queen in the chamber. Before he leaves, Joab lingers by the doorway and calls,

"My King, I hope to have an audience with you soon."

David waves a hand.

"First thing tomorrow, Elder Joab." Content by this, Joab exits- after giving a discrete glare towards Bathsheba, which the woman notes before responding with a kind smile. David turns to his wife, giving her a clear look that says, 'I-know-what-you-did'.

"My dear?"

"Yes, darling?"

"What exactly did you do to win over Elder Jacob's heart?"

"Whatever do you mean?" She bats her eyelashes innocently. David sighs exaggeratedly, sitting on his throne. He leans toward her, resting his chin in his palm.

"You know what I mean, vixen."

"Vixen," Her eyebrows disappear beneath her hair. "That's a new one."

"Well, you _do_ keep distracting me. Not to mention my Elders seem to understand that bending to your will is the best way to win my favor."

"You do adore your beautiful wife," She lightly quips, crossing her legs. His words are true, however. Something that Bathsheba didn't know about the Elders of the Orthodox Church was that they _aren't_ as unified as she always believed. In fact, they're all working to climb the rings of the hierarchy- just as those in the other Church sectors are. As such, they treat their positions as levels of merit and their fellow Elders as competitors; not to mention that there are constantly those who try to claim high positions that the Elders must be aware of. But all of them are loyal to David, vying for his grace and favor.

Favor.

Until recently, Bathsheba never realized how life-changing having a monarch's favor is. David's power and prowess is not just a political fact and a physical, tangible thing, but it also manifests in the form of an emotional connection. To have a relationship with the King as a friend or confidant gives an advantage to that person. There are Elders who have already seen that Bathsheba is very much so in David's favor, and have allied with her beliefs to gain better footing against formerly better situated Elders- like Joab, who remains as David's chief advisor. With this system of grants of trust and favor, David has perfectly orchestrated chaos in his government with him at the very pinnacle and little chance of insurgence or political foes.

It is also something Bathsheba has been carefully playing with in respect to her new friends in the palace, people whom she's placed close enough to her in order to gain allies in the capital. She has no one else here who she can trust, and putting Jonathan and Ester in seemingly innocent positions allows her some power in the dark political underground of the capital. Sadly, Bath knows she can't even reveal things to Arba, though over time she's begun to truly enjoy the presence of her handmaid...Although for some reason she feels oddly strange around her now. Especially whenever Arba is summoned by David for some reason or another. It's almost like nervousness.

 _Must be the pregnancy._

 _"Oh yes. It must be that."_

She shakes the thoughts off.

"It's not my fault that your Elders are beginning to see the light." Bathsheba says.

"See the light? No, it's not like that, Bathsheba." David stands, helping her up. "The Elders are barely human."

Bath jolts.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean they no longer care for anything else but the Church and themselves, Bathsheba. Their whole existence has been dedicated to becoming more and more powerful. They don't care how they have to shape their ideals and morals in order to achieve that."

Bathsheba stops walking, even as David starts to descends the stairs. Three down, David turns back to his wife, staring up at her.

"Don't make that face, dear," He advises softly. "They've lived too long, they don't know anything else. They just want to have the closest thing to my power, and as such will agree to anything in order to gain it. I assume Elder Jacob used your ideas to defend against Elder Nash, right?"

"..." Bath doesn't reply.

"What about you?" David tilts his head.

"Me?" He echos. "Oh. Well, that's true, I am the oldest. I don't know. I suppose nothing really matters to me anymore other than accomplishing my goal."

"Then why have you done so many evil things?" She asks him, her voice shocked and wavering. Tears appear in her eyes, but she doesn't know why. Maybe it's because she finally understands that the corruption in this world is overwhelmingly distorted and life-shattering. Maybe it's because she realizes that her husband, despite how strangely nice it is to talk with him, doesn't actually have any feelings toward her or the child she's going to have.

 _"Oh, Bath…"_

 _He's an evil man. Why is it so easy to forget that?_

"Because I cannot escape my fate," He tells her, his eyes changing somehow. If he wasn't the evil man she knows him to be, then perhaps she'd say that he looks _gentler_ now. _Sympathetic_ toward her plight. _Worried_ about her reaction towards him. "Come, Bath. Does your back hurt still?"

"Why have you condemned so many to death?"

"..." He offers her a hand, ready to guide her down the stairs so that she'll be mindful of their child. "I must fulfill my goal."

"Can't you create some other way?" Her voice catches. "Aren't you strong enough to do that, David?"

"...Come, Bath."

Bathsheba stares at his offered hand, feeling her chest well up with some emotion. She shakily exhales her breath, before taking a step downward, eyes glued to her feet.

She stumbles, caught off guard by the steepness of the stairs and the strange weight of her stomach.

Falling forward, falling forward, and then David's there. He moved so quickly, so rapidly in response to her movements, catching her mid-fall. They still go down, the force of her tumble making him drop back as well. But he has a Divine Stave, a factor that, possibly, saves her child's life.

Her feet leave the ground with his, both her arms wrapped around his neck. He hovers in midair for a moment, both his arms tight around her middle. Then he exhales a deep breath into her ear, moving fluidly in the air to turn around and slowly descend down to the floor at the bottom of the staircase. Bath can feel how his entire body is tense, but throws away any worry over what he must be feeling. When her feet touch the floor and her weight returns, she slides down from her previous position, forehead resting against David's shoulder. Neither noticed before, but she's so short that she only comes up to his shoulder. Really, everything about her is smaller, perhaps even _delicate_ , in comparison to him.

He stares down at her, and she can feel his weight of his gaze. She cannot bring herself to look up into those pale eyes, feeling like somehow just staring into them will show her the true depth of his anger over what she just recklessly did. Bath does not want him to look that way. She does not wants him to care at all.

He relaxes his hold on her waist, slowly lifting a hand to cup the back of her head. In a long motion, he strokes her hair, an action that makes her freeze up.

"Please don't ever do that again," He commands in a low voice. "I don't think my heart will be able to take another scare like that."

* * *

"Elder David?"

The suns are red when David turns his gaze to Arba. She stands before his desk, offering him a light smile. He blinks out of his foggy state, faintly recalling that he had sent for the woman to come to him. He supposes he can't get his mind off of the events of that afternoon, when Bathsheba almost fell. God, he hasn't moved that quickly in years. He was so _sure_ she was going to take his hand. All the paths seemed to lead that way, to her grasping his hand and letting him help her maintain her balance. Even if she truly was frustrated and angry (and heartbroken) at that moment, he thought she'd still…

But she didn't. She didn't. She went against him, against fate, and nearly killed their child in the process.

To this moment he still feels the echoes of pure _terror_. It was the most frightening feeling he's ever felt in the past hundred years. A feeling of helplessness, of complete fear. Not just because he knew if she fell she'd miscarry, but because it might have endangered her life. It's so shocking, to know that. To realize that someone is important to you for reasons that you can't quite explain.

David knows now that he can't become any closer to Bathsheba. He must set her at a distance from him. It was careless, to be so relaxed around her and so free with his emotions. He should've been in control, should've saw that he was growing too close and quickly cut off the connections that he was unknowingly forging.

But it's too late. David already feels connected to Bathsheba. Already worries for her. Already cares for the baby she's carrying for him, though that is a muddled mess of complications in on itself.

"Elder David?"

"Oh, yes, forgive me, Arba." David rubs his eyes. "I'm afraid I'm feeling tired today."

The artificial magician smiles sweetly, _lovingly_ at him.

 _If only my wife could make such eyes at me. Then it would be easy to distance myself her._

Arba rounds the desk, moving to stand behind him. Her hands drop down on his shoulders as she kneads the knots out of his muscles. It's like heaven for a moment, but then his thoughts return to that damn Bathsheba.

What is she doing right now? Is she repulsed by his evil? Does she regret agreeing to bear him a child?

 _This is why I hate being close to people. You begin to actually care about their feelings._

It's true. That's why he doesn't forge personal connections anymore. Caring about how a person feels hinders his ability to be impartial, unbiased and effective. Arba's massage gets rid of a massive knot in his shoulder, making him close his eyes in bliss.

 _Why did I send for Arba, again?_

Arba leans down and presses a kiss to his jugular.

 _Oh._

She kisses him again, deeper.

David's eyes open slowly, and he looks at the sunset. His skin burns where her lips had rested, pinpricks of pain jolting through his body and targeting the pit of his stomach. He cannot feel anything other than that pain, as it brings up yet another emotion he could've went another hundred years without. He can feel the Arba preparing another kiss, her breath fanning over the side of his throat. The annoyance that threads through him makes what he will have to do so much harsher.

"Forgive me, Arba," David stands, making her stumble back a step or two. "I've remembered I have somewhere to be. Excuse me."

"A-ah, of course!" A blush of embarrassment spreads across her cheeks as she bows her head. Another reason to feel anger at Bathsheba; ruining his relations with other women through the pure force of her indifference and dismissal of his actions. That, in addition to her oh-so-loving line of, 'just make sure she doesn't get pregnant, okay?'.

Oh, what a cold, cold woman he's wed to. It's a wonder he has withstood all of her cruelty thus far. But…

He leaves the office, turning toward his quarters. He can predict easily that's where his darling wife is, wrapped up in blankets and trying hard to concentrate on a book rather than her still frayed nerves.

 _Oh, how difficult. I just must forgive her, after all._

* * *

 _"Never forget the limitations of magic; there are certain things only a clever mind can accomplish."_

- _On the Progress of Strength Magic_ , "Introduction", by Bathsheba

* * *

Jonathan remembers the day that he told his father that he wanted to be a magician. The older man had let out this bark-like cough, a wet hack of not-quite disappointment. The twinge of sadness in the man's eyes, coupled with the fear of losing his only child, caused the elderly man to clap a hand down on Jonathan's shoulder as he shook his head.

 _"You ain't gonna survive in a magician's world."_

He was twelve, still young enough to believe every word his father spoke, but Jonathan brushed those words off. After all, his mother was a magician, so why couldn't he harness the power of magic? Why couldn't he become the strongest of the strong, publish learned pamphlets, freeze his age like his mother had?  
If there is something to know about Jonathan, it is that he was and is an incredible genius. From the tender age of eight, he understood the mechanics behind the magic of flight. His mother, a youthful-looking, beautiful thing, had embraced this wonderful child's gift and helped him learn as much as he could.

Memorize this, study that, it became a simple task.

Until the day that his mother presented him with a staff when he was thirteen. He had been begging her for one for years, and now he held the wooden wand in awe and reverence.

(He didn't know it then, but he was given this staff by his mother because she had a fear. A fear springing from her suspicions about the true nature of her son.)

Lifting that wand and feeling the wind pulse around him, Jonathan prepared his heart for the wonderful world about to bloom around him. He felt like he was completely in control of his destiny.

 _I am a magician. I am_ special _._

…

He wanted to produce a wind spell. But nothing happend.

He tried a fire spell.

A lightning spell.

Life.

Strength.

Water.

Sound.

 _Nothing_.

He turned to his mother, his smile broken and desperate.

She wouldn't look at him.

 _"You...Are like your father."_

His magic-less, _normal_ father. His father, who couldn't stop his aging process like his wife, and grew old while she remained young. Their relationship became as estranged as their ages, as the wife began to grow restless hoping her old husband would die and set her free as the husband bitterly watched his young-looking wife spend time with her handsome companions.

She wasn't ready to live a normal lifespan and die so quickly.

He couldn't change her mind.

Even the birth of their son didn't fix their relationship, which had once been a beautiful, flourishing love. Jonathan grew up in this abyss between his parents, striving to become the best he could, hoping to be a successful magician.

He's not a magician.

He's just normal.

He'll only ever be normal.

That's why magicians and "normals" can't marry, they say. Because their children frequently end up as "normals", which is incredibly shameful for a powerful magician.

But….

 _"I want to be a magician."_

Jonathan didn't give up. He may not be powerful, but by Illah's grace he was gifted with an incredible mind. He would not bow his head to fate; he'd change it with his intelligence. His father, along with his mother, urged him to stop.

His father so that Jonathan won't be crushed by the cruel magician's world like him.

His mother so that she won't be embarrassed further by her magic-less offspring.

Jonathan pushed on.

He was able to even get into the prestigious University of Trignon. At that point, he had gone through so many courses, read so many books, and became so deeply enrooted with formulas and theories that he _felt_ like a magician-scholar. Many even thought he was a magician-scholar.

It was then that his father died. It was then that his mother put her foot down.

 _"I will not pay for my talentless son to go to a school where he'll only fail!"_

 _"Then I won't be your son!"_

Their relationship never recovered. According to what he's heard, she returned to the freedom of her younger days, trying to live as a single woman. But she got pregnant again, and had to settle down with the father.

(He's heard that his step-father is a non-magician. And that his half-sister is one as well.)

( _"Dear Jonathan,_

 _I should never have said those things to you, nor should I have discouraged your dreams. You're bright and brilliant. I know that you can survive and thrive in this harsh world. This apology is long overdo, my son, so please, come see your baby sister-"_

He threw the letter in the trash.)

At Trignon, he suffered and succeeded. He excelled in all his classes, but no one thought he belonged. Once people found out he couldn't produce magic, he was ostracized. His professors purposefully assigned him more work and graded him harshly. It was the greatest ordeal he's ever had to overcome, but bit by bit, inch by inch, he won ground.

Essays without errors, meticulous research, pages upon pages of fact-checks and repeated experiments' results.

He was taught how to perfect everything by his harsh surroundings. He was taught to create infallible work that no professor could downgrade him on. The only professor who never forced him to give one hundred percent was the Professor of Strength Magic.

Professor Bathsheba.

 _"Jon, you got the beast queen? Man, that sucks. I hear she wants to marry one of the Centaurs or something creepy like that. Haha!"_

She was not easy, that was for sure, but she didn't care that he was a non-magician. He had confronted her once about it, nervous to understand and eager to find out what trait made her accept him.

 _"What…? Ah. That. You know...It's funny...Humanity as a whole should be unified. We are banding together to put down the other species in order to stay on the top. So, I wonder...Why are we so fractured?"_

Those words stuck with him. Why are we so fractured? It was a good question. Why must the non-magicians be forced into doing manual labor? Why do they have to work as servants and cart-pullers and construction workers? Why are they treated like second-class citizens?

 _"The world's not fair."_

Well of course it's not. Look at the life he was born into. But why does it continue like that? Jonathan vowed to become something better.

He had dreams.

Dreams that disappeared when he graduated. He worked his ass off for a scholarship at Trignon, and worked even more to pay the fees for his housing and necessary goods. But he never knew that once he graduated that there wouldn't be any jobs offered to him.

He went everywhere. _To everyone._

The professors who grew to respect him declined his requests.

The friends he had made turned their backs to him as they joined the army or the Church Organization Sector or the Civil Duties Department. The magic-less magician applied everywhere, from science research institutes to Gunuds with open slots.

No one accepted him.

Not a single person.

And when he turned to the only professor who accepted him, he learned that Bathsheba had resigned.

With little money, Jonathan had to become a construction worker. He would've liked to become an artisan at least, but he didn't have any talents or the money to sit through an apprenticeship. The only good thing that happened to him during this downward spiral was…

 _...Merab._

A non-magician.

A poor, lower class woman.

A scowling girl who could look so incredibly cute at times.

God, did he fall in love with her. Everything about her intoxicated him. Her skin, tanned from the sun, her eyes, the color of gold, her hair, dark and shiny. The sound of her voice sent shivers down his spine when she rebuffed his advances, and the dry sarcasm she sported made him melt. Not to mention her shocking realism that bordered on pessimism, which was like a refreshing slap to the face.

 _"For the thousandth time, Jon, you're just not my type."_

In truth, she should've be the opposite of what he wanted. He always knew his type was a gentle housewife, and Merab was everything but that. She worked many different jobs, rolled her eyes often, and scoffed loudly when he said he'd be a faithful lover if she accepted him.

It took three years, a lot of flirting, and a fair share of begging before she decided to start dating him. He fondly recalls the way their fingers fit together after their first date, her hand looking like cinnamon compared to his dark skin. It took another year filled with love and the occasional fight before they married. Things were finally looking up for him.

After all, _Merab_ was now _his_. If he could get her, then he could achieve his dreams.

He was fired two weeks after his wedding.

His wife was laid off three weeks after that.

So there they are, poor beggars unable to find work, lost in the seedy underground of the so-called "Norm Sea" in the capital of Alma Torran. The money was dwindling, the food was running out, Merab's eyes were becoming dimmer and dimmer. Jonathan wanted many things in his life. He wanted so many wonderful things, and he didn't achieve anything. But he vowed on his life, on his honor, on his dead father's magic-less soul, that would not let the woman he loved live like this. Even if it meant becoming a pitiful beggar trying to appeal to the Queen he once knew.

He still doesn't know why Bathsheba summoned them into the palace that day last year. He doesn't understand it at all, really. Going to her was his last resort, because she was the kind professor who never looked down on him. But she summoned them. She heard them out. And she saved their lives.

Now, Jonathan is a librarian. It's nothing special, oh no, far from that, but the title of "Head Royal Librarian" has it's perks. Not to mention because he is a confidant of the Queen, whom many are currently trying to curry favor with, he has a certain extra power. His salary is enough to support him and his wife now. Merab often spends her days looking after their new apartment in the city and managing the small store she was able to open, specializing in beautifully woven tapestries. Thing are going great.

But Jonathan will never forget the hardships he had to endure. Being around Queen Bathsheba has opened his eyes a lot, really. The world is broken. Magicians stand on top, non-magicians are treated as inferior, and the other species are _…Oppressed._

(There was a time in Jonathan's life he would never have chosen that word.)

Living the life he has lived has created something akin to sympathy within Jonathan. The other living, intelligent beings on Alma Torran may be monstrous and deadly, but why are humans, who are the weakest race, so cruelly putting them down? Why are they declawing their enemies so quickly, without even giving them a chance to ask for peace?

He's tried to suppress these feelings if for nothing else but his vow to Merab. If he is found out, excommunication from the Church for heresy would be the least of his worries; radicals could and would attack him and his family with the intent to kill. Or he'll be forced out of human cities into the wildlands. Not even the Queen could protect him from her husband's Council should that happen.

Despite all these cause for pause, his beliefs, his new beliefs, still yearn within him. Which is why, when Jonathan met and was befriended by an odd fellow named Nathan, he risked his life to meet with the man. They had secret meetings where they carefully discussed the truth about the Orthodox Church and its horrors. Treading cautiously, they forged a friendship, if not an alliance.

Which leads to now.

Standing before Queen Bathsheba's private study, a letter in his hands. His fingers shake badly, but he promised Nathan and the Cause that he'd do this.

 _I'm not a magician. But I_ am _special._

He leans down and slips the letter beneath the doorway, quickly looking around to ensure no one saw him perform the deed. Then he turns away and quickly scampers back to the library, his heart racing with excitement and frayed nerves.

 _Just for now. Just while I'm doing this, I'm finally_ special _._

* * *

Wow. I was not expecting this chapter to turn out to be so lengthy. Still, I'm so happy I got to go deeper into the world-building of Alma Torran! We learn about inner turmoil between magicians and the "normals". Also, we learn that Nathan's promise to Ugo about the future is anything but hot air...What is the Cause? And what are they trying to do? Plus that DavidXBath was actually very necessary bc I sorta ship it a little bit. AND HOLY CRAP IS JOAB NUTS OR WHAT?

Oh, and there was a lovely review from UnicornAkashi pointing out that the names of the characters in this story are from the Bible! Which is true, I did take the names of people from the Bible- mostly those surrounding the stories about King David. Here's a list:

 **Bathsheba** : The wife of Uriah the Hittite whom King David saw bathing (Davie you perv) and fell in love with. David then killed her husband in order to marry her; she is the mother of his successor, making her the Queen Mother.

 **Nathan:** Nathan the prophet, who is also included in the story of Bathsheba and David. He reprimands David for killing Uriah the Hittite and also serves as a court prophet.

 **Sara(h):** The wife of Abraham, a prophet (bc Nathan the prophet had no wives). She is also considered a female prophet.

 **Saul:** A King whom ruled before David and was driven mad with paranoia (see the connection? ;)). David overthrew Saul to become King. Saul's last name, "Gibeath", is from the place where Saul met with a company of prophets.

 **Jonathan:** Jonathan was the eldest son of Saul and a friend of David. He sent messages to David to warn him about his father's plans to kill him, which is why in this story Jonathan is a messenger of sorts.

 **Est(h)er:** The famously beautiful Queen of the Persian King Ahasuerus. She helped the Jewish people in Persia from prosecution and craftily helped her cousin become her husband's prime minister.

Okay! Well, that's it for now. I hope you like the chapter!

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	13. Chapter 13: Clarity

I apologize for being late. I've been a pretty tired ducky with my summer job and all. I work as a tennis coach, and a fragile, delicate child like myself often feels drained because of the sun. I've also been trying to prioritize my other story, Starry Skies, because A. it's my main story, B. the chapters are waaaay longer, and C. I'm rewriting the earlier chapters because DAMN DID I NOT UNDERSTAND GRAMMAR WHEN I FIRST STARTED OUT WRITING.

Questions:

 **Just a bit confused with the whole rift for the magicians and normals. I'm pretty sure your aware of the fact that every human in Alma Torrance became a magician, so I'm just wondering why you decided to add this in. Does this mean you will change the tragedy of Alma Torran as well? Or will you keep that canon plot the same?:** I am glad you asked, friend. HERE IS MY THEORY: I do recall it saying that every human became a magician, but only the humans who met Ill Illah. According to Yamuraiha's backstory, she was a magician born into a clan who served the Musta'sim family- and considering her parents weren't killed because of magician-hood, I have to assume that she was merely "chosen" to be a magician by the Rukh. If we follow that logic, that means one doesn't need to be a descendent of a magician to become one; likewise, just because one has magician parent(s) it doesn't mean that they have to be magicians as well. If this is true, then it makes sense how David was able to destroy the magician base. If every human became a magician, it doesn't make sense why they wouldn't fight back against David and instead leave everything to Setta. They heavily outnumbered the Elders, so why they wouldn't try to overpower them? The only answer I could think of was that they couldn't because they weren't magicians. That in mind, I decided to add in non-magicians into this story, even though it is not confirmed canon. Also, the rift between magicians and normals is going to be very important towards the plot, especially during the second half of the story. And no, I'm not going to change the tragedy of Alma Torran, mainly because this story doesn't actually continue that far.

 **When is Solomon is going to be born?:** Keep reading :)

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 13: Clarity

* * *

The early morning is dewy, foggy. And yet, a red light glows in the distance, illuminating the white clouds resting on top of the earth. The far away jagged mountains seem less harsh, the wide open plains outside of the palace are paler. Every twisting, sharp building in the capital now looks soft and gentle, purer than she has ever remembered it being.

Perhaps that's just the pain talking.

"Ah," Bathsheba gasps, squeezing her eyes shut. "Ah, Arba…"

But Arba is not there, despite how Bath calls for her. Instead, it's Ester, her long, orange hair undone from it's usual twists and loops. The woman looks half-awake, her emerald eyes blurry and cheeks pale without the usual rosy powder she applies to them. The handmaid sits by her mistress's bedside, her lips pursed nervously.

"It's alright, Mistress," She quickly soothes her Queen, anxiously studying the large swell of Bathsheba's stomach. Ester takes her hand, and Bathsheba is never so grateful to her than she is at that moment.

"Where'd Arba go?" She asks drowsily.

"To go get the healer," Ester tells her. "And to inform Elder David. He was not here this morning when you summoned me."

"Yes...That's right…" Bath squeezes her eyes shut. "He sleepwalks sometimes."

"Really?" Ester's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "He does?"

Bathsheba quickly realizes that she's revealed something sensitive about her husband to someone who probably shouldn't know about it. Not that she's trying to protect David, but should he be assassinated (however unlikely), there would be no point in all that she's done. So Bathsheba looks Ester in the eye and gently commands,

"Do not take a wife's sleepy word too seriously." Ester gets the point fairly quickly, lowering her gaze. "How much longer do you think it'll be?"

Ester very carefully sets a hand on her mistress's stomach.

"Perhaps a few hours." The beast queen nods and lays her head back down, deciding to remain calm throughout this ordeal. Excitement, clear and true, races through her body. Overtime she has embraced her pregnancy with open arms despite the complicated situation it has affirmed for her. She's dying suddenly to know the gender. David has never seemed to care about knowing, and the voices only hum with concealed joy when she asks them. It was possible to find out herself through the life magic she learned during her studies, or even ask a magician-healer, but she feels if neither David nor the voices will tell her, then she doesn't need to know. Now, however, she feels desperate to know. To understand. To have an ounce of stability when dealing with the precious life she's about to bring into the world.

"Don't worry, Mistress," Ester quietly murmurs. "You'll see your child in just a few short hours, aru."

* * *

"Milord," Arba appears before a large door, knocking on it. Hesitantly she looks around herself, at the dark corridors and the ominous carvings engraved into the doorway. Hearing no response, but feeling as though he's just not going to say anything, Arba quietly presses down on the handle and enters the room, finding it open. The interior of the art studio is something that she's seen just a few times but has never forgotten. The gray gaze of the strange woman David's painted over and over sticks to her as she enters and goes to a stool placed next to the bay window. The pure king sits there, facing the window. He's staring at the sunrise, the first sun peaking his head up before his siblings.

"Milord," Arba repeats, softly. She doesn't get much of a response, so she bites her lip and forces her to remember the circumstances. She clears her throat and says, "Elder David."

His shoulders tense a bit, and then he turns to her, face blank. He does not seem like he's in the mood to be dealing with anything, but doesn't snap at her like the few times she's interrupted him while he was in here.

"What is it?" He asks, his voice low. Arba momentarily forgets what she was going to say. David accepts this pause without question, continuing on, "I had a dream last night."

"A good dream?"

"A bad one. A memory I don't like." Arba kneels at her Master's feet now, looking up at him with wonder. She may not know what he's talking about, but the very fact that he's talking to _her_ about this- and not Bathsheba- excites her. It makes her feel as though she's as special to him as his wife is.

"I dreamt I betrayed someone very close to me."

"Loyalty is a necessary thing." She repeats to him the lesson she's been taught year after year since the day she was born. "Everything will fall apart if not for bonds."

David isn't listening.

"When I awoke, I was here."

"It was a dream."

"And when I awoke, I realized that my fears were reality. I had betrayed that person."

"..." Arba rests her head on his knee, wishing she had the words or the charm to persuade him that he's not been wrong. Bitterness sweeps it's grimy, sharp fingers down her throat.

 _Perhaps Bathsheba could-_

Her eyes widen.

 _Bathsheba._

"Milord!" Arba scrambles back. She does not startle David, but the man's hand hovers the place where her head was, as if he was about to start patting it. She wishes she had at least gotten to feel his fingers in her hair. It had been so long since he'd touched her last. Ever since his marriage to Bathsheba, he has barely even brushed his knuckles over her arm.

"What is it?" He questions. Arba's cheeks color as shame pours through her. How could she be thinking about her relationship with David at the very moment his wife is delivering their child? A deep, unsettling feeling buries itself in her stomach.

 _I'm a selfish person._

"Milord, Lady Bathsheba is giving birth."

* * *

The healer looks alarmed and nervous.

It makes Bathsheba alarmed and nervous.

Of course, she understands the woman's worry. The safe delivery of this child is, essentially, the biggest moment of the healer's life. It's do-or-die; and quite literally. God only knows what David would do to the woman should she mess up and kill- _G_ _odforbid_ \- his infant or- _G_ _odforbid_ \- his wife. It has become common knowledge within the court about how David has grown increasingly enamored with his pregnant wife, hardly wishing to break from her side. Bathsheba doesn't really understand the causes behind _that_. Perhaps he worries she'll harm herself and miscarry, or he wishes to curb her growing political power. But, she thinks, it is neither of those. She believes that, just _maybe_ , he's grown…

 _Attached to me._

 _"Hm, you thi_ _nk?"_

 _You're sayin_ _g he does not?_

 _"Would that_ _hurt you, Bath?"_

Another contraction. She pushes David out of her mind- honestly, she doesn't think she can deal with any of _his_ crazy at the moment- and focuses on _the thing about to leave her body_. Honestly, she wants to throw up. The pain is immense, crashing upon her like cruel waves over a rocky beach, breaking down the stones until they are fine grains of sand. She remembers watching the sea often as a child, back before she left home to become a magician. Her mother, Shushanna, would wrap a quilt around her shoulders and cluck, wondering aloud why her daughter could possibly want to come to the seaside during the winter. But then her blonde, pretty mother would smile teasingly and kiss her, offering Bathsheba a chance to hold her little brother.

 _"He's a little fire pit,"_ Shushanna had said, giggling. _"I think he's a fire-type. Your father might have a stroke- you know how water-mages can be."_

Bathsheba remembers giggling hysterically, quite understanding what her mother meant. Her father could get so worked up, turning his face red. It was a wonder he was able to feed himself before meeting his wife. But these memories make Bathsheba feel very lonely and sad, so she turns instead to another memory of the sea. This time, she was watching the sunset together with Ugo. The younger man had stuttered through most of his sentences, his cheeks red. She remembers thinking that he had such lovely wine-colored eyes, and that he was a good man.

 _"Do you remember what he last said to you?"_

Bathsheba closes her eyes.

 _He told me he loved me._

 _"Why didn't you say anything back?"_

 _...No point thinking about that now._

* * *

"H-huh?" Ugo looks up from his papers, heavy bags under his eyes appearing a darker color as the pallor of his face grows starkly white. "What's that?"

Nathan crosses his arms, his face stoic.

"Bathsheba is giving birth." He repeats, louder this time.

Jonathan looks up from the mountain of books he had been fussing over, his jaw dropped. Before Nathan's arrival that morning, Jonathan had been scolding Ugo for his lack of tidiness, trying to salvage his beautiful library's pristine nature. Now nothing seems more important than finding out the facts. Ugo looks thunderstruck, his powder-red eyes losing their shine as he looks down at his lap. Nathan reaches forward and claps a hand down on the man's shoulder, squeezing it. Then he turns his fire-like eyes to Jonathan, his intentions clear.

 _This child will distract the King. Then we will commence with our plans._

* * *

" _Illah_." Bathsheba groans, throwing her head back against the covers. "So this...Is childbirth...Huh…?"

Ester nods speechlessly, still gripping her hand. Bathsheba laughs airily, listening to the healer bark out orders to her. Outside, the suns emerge above the fog, glowing summer colors. One a light, docile yellow, the other a bright orange, the third a swirl of the two with splotches of vibrant red. They cast a multicolored summary of shades upon the city and plains, painting the world in different colors.

"Push!"

Bathsheba closes her eyes and does so.

Ah, overwhelming and wonderful and painful, so many things that leave her wracked with fatigue and writhing in pain, crying out for the child she wishes to hold as soon as possible.

A stunning moment of clarity.

Then, as she falls back into the realm of the living and the pained, the crisp, stark cries of a baby echo in her ears.

* * *

Ester stands shakily, holding out her arms. The healer, who is pale and cautious, slips the child into Ester's arms with slow movements as to not disturbing the baby's shrill pattern of cries.

"What a beautiful child," Ester breathlessly murmurs, her chin wobbling. She looks into the newborn's face, studying the wrinkled, precious appearance of the baby.

"His Majesty will be pleased," The healer says, but nervously, as if expecting reassurance that her life will be spared.

"My…My child?" Ester jolts, looking back to her mistress. Bathsheba struggles to sit up, breathing harshly. The healer scrambles forward, helping the Queen with her endeavor.

Ester takes a deep breath, a smile spreading across her face. Hours of this trial have left her and her mistress stressed and in pain, but it's over now.

The child is here.

Ester hands the bundle to Bathsheba, who exhaustedly looks down at her baby. Then, for the first time in many years, Bathsheba begins to cry.

* * *

 _Click, clack, click, clack._

David does not try to hurry too quickly down the hall, but cannot contain his own excitement. His heart beats quickly, reminding him with each beat that this blessed child shall be the one to strike him down. Arba is at his heals, barely containing her nervous fidgets. His anxiety feeds upon hers, but he reigns in his emotions and contains them, telling himself that even should he rush, he would not be allowed into the room as his wife gives birth.

Finally, they come upon the destination, and David lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Servants and Elders alike congregate outside, shifting foot to foot in anticipation and chattering eagerly to one another. Elder Nash, who sits apart from the main group on a bench, spots him first.

"Elder David," Nash quickly scrambles up out of his seat, smiling at his King. "I'm here to congratulate you on the birth of your child! What a blessing!"

"Thank you, Nash," David smoothly says. Despite his calmness, his fingers twitch with excitement. He wishes to see the son his wife birthed, and hear the innocent cries of his murderer. He pauses. "Say, what did she name the boy?"

Elder Nash blinks, his smile wavering slightly. He then presents a bright smile, as if deciding that he should not frown in front of a new father. Especially not a new father who happens to be the most powerful man in the world.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken, My King," Nash pleasantly chuckles. "There is no boy. But your daughter, Princess Tamar Jehoahaz Abraham, has been born."

* * *

End of chapter! And, surprise! Turns out Bath had a baby girl. What do you think about that? ;)

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	14. Chapter 14: Tamar

HEY EVERYONE! Thanks for waiting so patiently~! I've been fussing over this chapter for so long, mostly because we are soon going to be entering the second half of the story, which means I want the first half- and it's ending- to be _PERFECT._ Which means I have to make you love Tamar...Which probably won't be too hard, because who doesn't love cute little babies/children? Have fun reading!

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 14: Tamar

* * *

The world is bright, and it burns her eyes.

Slowly, she opens them once more, watching the light soften. The room comes into perspective, and she curiously stares up at the ceiling, blinking away sleep. She tries to lift her head, but it's too heavy, and her arms flail awkwardly in the air as she looks for something to grasp. She wiggles, as if the movement will the catch the eye of one of her parents, before resigning herself to stillness.

A bird lands on the edge of her crib.

In awe, she tries to grab it, concentrating on reaching out for the fluttering, brilliant creature. Someone laughs, a sound that echoes around her, confusing her. The bird lifts off from it's perch, circling her, before settling down on her belly. She watches it with awe, using her hand to try and touch it. The bird avoids her palm, nimbly fluttering between her fingers to rest atop one.

She giggles.

 _"Are you having a good morning, Tamar?"_ Tamar looks up, and sees the source of the voice. Above her, looking into the crib, is her mother. Her hair, long and straight, falls into the crib, and Tamar abandons the bird to grasp the blue locks. She gurgles and sputters to her mother, pointing to the bird, but Bathsheba doesn't understand her, laughing.

 _"I hope you slept well. The first time sleeping through the night! What a good girl."_ Bathsheba's hands swoop down, lifting her infant from the crib. _"My little girl, such a sweetheart."_

Bathsheba cooes sweetly down at Tamar, her lovely face glowing with pride and happiness. Tamar feels incredibly warm, her belly filling with a comforting heat. She curls into her mother, pulling on her hair and pointing to the bird now perched again on the rim of the crib. She stuffs blue hair into her mouth, watching her mother's face to see her reaction.

But Bathsheba still doesn't notice it.

Or rather...She doesn't _see_ it.

* * *

"Da...Da…" Tamar crinkles her nose in concentration, staring up into her father's face. David sits cross-legged before her, staring down at her with calm blue eyes. His eyes and Bathsheba's are both blue, but very different. Bathsheba's are vibrant and enticing, mesmerizing her with the stories they whisper silently. David's, on the other hand, are concealed by a powder-blue wall. She cannot see what her father thinks on the other side of his eyes. The only emotion he allows for her to see is curiosity.

Tamar picks herself up onto her knees, pressing her palms onto the carpet. Then she crawls closer to David, watching her little hands to keep her balance. She wobbles, losing focus, and goes down, her head landing atop her father's leg. David is silent, staring at her.

"Dada." She mumbles into his leg, before pulling herself up. She smiles at him, goofily, and opens her arms. "Dada!"

David watches her curiously.

And he smiles.

 _"You are quite fascinating. Just like Bathsheba._ _"_

Tamar touches her nose, reassuring herself that it's still there after her fall. Then she looks up at David, smiling herself.

"Dada," She repeats wisely, nodding her head. "Da."

 _"Mhm."_ David does something strange with his eyes, making them do a circle. _"Do you know when your_ mother _is coming back? I have work."_

The word "mother" gets through to her, and she perks up, recognizing the woman who comes along with that title.

"Mama!" Tamar launches forward, landing in his lap. She grabs his clothes, holding tight and giggling. "Mama!"

 _"...Why do you say "_ Mama _" better than "_ Dada _"?"_

Tamar laughs happily, pulling on his robes and his long black hair as she squirms in his lap.

 _"Your_ mother _slapped me when I told her I wanted a son,"_ He says, pulling her up from under her arms. He holds her to his chest, staring down at her with a slight grin. _"Of course, I was upset. I understand why she would do that. But you are so wonderful, little_ Tamar _. I showed you to Illah, and his Rukh embraced you."_

She snuggles into her father, yawning. Then she curls into his arms, closing her little eyes.

 _"You have inherited your_ mother _'s brilliance,_ Tamar _. I will keep you in this world, close to me."_

* * *

Tamar runs down the hallway, gently constrained by her mother's hand. Bathsheba's palm flattens atop her head, before drifting down as if caught in the strands of her hair. Someone rounds the corner of hallway, and Tamar freezes. She sneaks into the folds of her mother's dress, hiding amongst the blue and red fabric. She giggles, thinking that she's being clever, awaiting Bath's signal.

A gentle tap on her forehead, and she's springing forward, arms wide open.

"Daddy!" She calls, arms wrapping around the man's legs. A deep chuckle vibrates through her father's chest, rattling her little body.

"Hello, my Princess. How has your day been?"

"Good! Mommy 'n I went to pick flowers!" In a moment, she's delicately pried off of David's legs and swooped up into the air, meeting a blue gaze. She's held close to her father's body, her cheek squishing against his shoulder.

"Did you pick me any?"

"Mhm. Mommy 'n I made a vase fer your room"

"I see. How lucky I am." Her father bounces her. She curls into him, absorbing his warmth through their hug. There is a pressure against her side, causing her to peek up and see her mother smiling at David.

"How was the meeting, darling?"

"Bath," He wraps an arm around Bathsheba's waist, and presses his forehead to hers. Tamar watches curiously at the exchange, studies how David looks at Bath. "If you were there, I may have actually paid attention."

Bathsheba laughs lightly, which makes Tamar giggle. Tuning out the rest of her parent's conversation, she plays with her father's earring, grasping it with both hands. The earring is as large as her hand, and she can fit three fingers through the hole. It's cool as the winter breeze, and very lightly Tamar pulls it like she's seen Bathsheba do.

"Ah- oh. I see your mother taught you a bad habit." Bathsheba glares at David, punching his arm. He rears back, frowning at his wife.

Tamar giggles innocently, holding tight to her parents.

* * *

 _My Tamar and my Bathsheba have grown close to my heart._

 _I'm afraid to say that I've grown irreversibly en_ _amored with my wife. Her smiles light my days, like candles set in the darkest hallway. And I know I've grown on her to; she no longer shies away from my touch, or restrains her laughter with simpers of disdain. She's swayed my judgement many times since the birth of our child, a fact that I'm not proud of. And yet, whenever I follow Bathsheba's path, I find myself enjoying life more. I find myself seeing something righteous and brilliant that I had never seen before._

 _I find myself not wanting a son._

 _Perhaps Joab is right. Maybe my judgement is being clouded [the writing stops, and picks up again with a lighter stroke] My Tamar is here. I must entertain her._

* * *

"Mommy, can I see Daddy today?"

"I'm afraid not, sweetness. He's working." Tamar pouts, leaning back against her mother. Bathsheba sits at her desk, her hand moving smoothly over papers. Her eyes are trained on it, never lifting from the words she forms on the page. Fascinated, Tamar lifts herself up, watching as the words form sentences. They add up to create paragraphs, which look so neat and orderly and sensible. She can't read most of the words, they're too long and complicated. But she likes looking, and seeing her mother so enraptured with what she's sculpting.

"Waz this, Mommy?"

"..." Bathsheba blinks, clouds leaving her sky-like eyes. She looks down at her, as if surprised to find her daughter perched on her lap. "It is my new book."

"Do you like w'iting, Mommy?"

"Very much so. I enjoy writing theses on magic, but…" Bathsheba laughs a little, the sound striking in its awkwardness. "Ah, well, this one is more on philosophies."

"Phil-aw-so-f-ies…?" Tamar repeats, tilting her head. "Waz that?"

"It's a belief on how the world works...Or should work." Her mother cups her face, looking into her face. "And you, my dove, are my greatest inspiration."

"Why?"

"..." Bathsheba chuckles, holding her tight. "Because you are the most wonderful thing I've ever created, Tamar."

* * *

Ester pushes Falan and Tamar together, her eyes loving and sweet.

"Falan, meet Tamar, aru. And Tamar, like, meet my daughter, Falan."

Tamar blinks. In front of her is a girl with carrot-colored hair and eyes like the precious green stones her father once showed her. _Jade_ , he had called them. Her lips are drawn together in a pout, but it's her eyes that look up at her from under thick lashes that give away her shyness. She looks a lot like Ester, who is beautiful and kind. Many a day Tamar has begged the handmaid to introduce her to Falan, but it's been difficult to carve out a good time. Remembering all the times she spent pestering Ester while she was trying to braid her young mistress's hair causes Tamar to giggle. Tamar's lips slowly form a smile, and she eagerly takes a step towards Falan.

"Nice to meet you, Falan!" She warmly greets, her lips perking upwards. Falan seems surprised, but then begins to smile as well, holding out a hand. The two join their hands together and turn to the gardens, neither noticing a beaming Ester behind them.

* * *

When Tamar is five, she meets a mysterious man. He looks down at her with cold eyes, his lips forming an icy smile. It makes her back shiver, but she doesn't like judging and sticks to her spot in front of him, holding her skirt.

"Hello there, little one."

"...Hi." She says, her voice small. She wants her mother suddenly, but doesn't know why.

"You're the infamous Tamar, hm? What a joy to meet you." They are polite words covered in a film of sarcasm and jutting out with sharp edges. Her eyebrows knit together, and she tilts her head slightly.

"Um, nice to meet you, mister."

"Joab," He introduces himself, his canines pronounced as he smiles wider. "Call me Joab, your highness."

"...Joab..." She steps away, hitting someone. It's her mother, Bathsheba, who glares at Joab unabashedly. Bathsheba sets a reassuring hand on Tamar's shoulder, as if telling the girl that she's not alone. Tamar hugs her mother's leg, hiding slightly.

"Elder Joab," Bathsheba greets, her smile made of hard clay.

"Your majesty," He returns, his smile harder. Tamar has the strangest desire to protect her mother from his man, to grab her hand and take her away. But her mother is a strong woman, and she doesn't react to Joab, ushering Tamar away without another word.

* * *

 _ **A ways down the road...**_

"...Bath?"

"..."

"...It's time. We have to go."

"..."

"Bathsheba, please…"

"..."

"You have to come. We can't ignore this."

"I-I _can't_."

"I know. But we _failed_ , Bathsheba."

* * *

Oh man, that ominous ending! I wonder what happen...? Five virtual hugs for whoever can guess it right! Oh, but trust me, Tamar will still be around next chapter. Next chapter is...Fluffy. And sweet. Anyway, thanks for reading the chapter and being so patient! I'm sorry I've left you all waiting for so long. Unfortunately, I've been working on a few other projects, and it's been tough to catch up. Luckily my Beta has proof-read chapters 10-12, which I will soon be posting with the edits. Thanks for sticking with me, and keep enjoying!

 **Tamar:** Someone asked me how I picked the name Tamar, and here is my answer: FROM THE BIBLE~! In the Bible, King David's only daughter (at least only daughter mentioned by name) was named Tamar, thus, this Tamar is named...Tamar. She is an adorable child whom even David has grown to love, a being of sweetness and purity. You're probably wondering how she's going to fit into the story and my answer is: in ways you shall not expect.

 **Joab:** He is a psycho. And his name is taken from the Bible as well! David made his nephew Joab captain of the army, who was actually quite a brilliant captain and then General. Joab was known to give advice and admonish David. However, Joab often went against David's orders as well, resulting in the deaths of two of David's sons.

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	15. Chapter 15: Perfection

I have risen from the dead! Sorry for the hiatus, pals! It's been a struggle...Summer homework should be illegal ;) There is some cuteness in this chapter, some character/relationship development, and, as per my (annoyingly slow) style, subtle plot developments...But the plot will be picking up soon, so I hope y'all are ready!

Questions:

 **[Did] the revolt fail? And is Tamar Solomon's future mother or something?:** Hahaha, sadly, no. I'm not that good at creating plots XD This story doesn't go into canon. Well...Technically, towards the end it does, but not until then.

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

Chapter 15: Perfection

* * *

It's twilight.

Two of the suns of Alma Torran, Suyo and Urano, have bow their heads to the horizon, closing their eyes for the night. Only the third, smallest sun, Giano, lays awake, resting it's small face on the hills to the north. The orange and red light illuminating the world fades slowly, and warns of the coming darkness of night. The wise and the weary have retreated into their homes, preparing for sleep, while the species enslaved by the Gunuds shake of their headaches and return to their dens.

A manticore lays in the tall grass of the plains, wheezing heavily in and out. He does not have the strength to burrow underground, his left front paw aching too badly to do so. Instead, he curls up and gently whimpers, a small call for his brothers and sisters to come help him. But he's alone, and is condemned to spend the winter night in the cold. He watches Giano with half-lidded eyes, wondering if he's going to die. If so, he wishes he could at least see his mother again. She had been so upset since his father died, and if he was to go too, without even a goodbye…

He closes his eyes, resigning to the headache building up in his cranium. He tries licking his paw, but it tastes of blood and dirt and he quickly grows sick of the taste. The worst part of it all is that he has no idea how he injured himself. The Gunud is like a terrible dream that you forget the moment the magic stops. He loses track of time and reason...And considering how badly his stomach hurts, he must've been working for days this time.

His father died of overwork, too. At least now he'll be able to see his father again...

But it isn't fair. It isn't fair at all, and he doesn't want to die. He has a family, his mother and his siblings...Not to mention that there is this manticore, this beautiful female, that he's thinking of marrying. He wants children. He wants to watch the humans' fireworks in the summer during their annual festival. He wants to keep watching Giano burn the horizon with its red gaze.

"I don't wanna…" He's sobbing now, pressing his muzzle more firmly into the ground. "I don't wanna die..."

"No one does." His eyes snap open. That his language. That's his family-!

But when he shifts his face to the side, he does not see a manticore.

He sees a child.

A human child.

She picks her way through the sea of grass, parting the stalks with her small hands. Slung across her back, a wand is strapped tightly, a simple wooden thing that bears the mark of the Orthodox Church. She looks up at him, her expression blank and her eyes a burning blue. His eyes widen. He breathes quicker, eyes darting to the dirt. If he works fast, he can possibly dig his way down and into one of the Manticore tunnels- but if he's not quick enough, the magician will be able to kill him before his head dips beneath the dirt.

"What's your name?" He pauses. He looks back at the human, narrowing his eyes in scrutiny. Did she just ask his name?

He says nothing. She stares.

"I'm Bathsheba." She tells him, standing before him now. Bathsheba studies his body, as if looking for something. She notices his paw, and her mouth forms an 'o'. "That doesn't look good...The cut became infected, hm?"

"...Why are you here, human?" He growls at her, but the pain from his paw leaks into his voice. He wants to wince at his own weakness.

"I've come to heal you." She says simply, walking closer. The girl kneels by his palm, looking down at it with a considerate expression.

"..." He keeps watching her, confused. She came to heal him? That's not possible. Magicians only visit injured slaves to kill them- to prevent unnecessary use of supplies, time, and, of course, to continue production. A realization slams into him, and he bitterly scoffs at his own naivete. "Leave me, human. You only wish to heal me so I can keep working, right?"

Bathsheba looks up at him. In her face, he does not see scorn or apathy.

Rather, her blankness turns to something he didn't expect.

Sorrow.

He would rear back, if he didn't feel so hopelessly exhausted. Her eyes, blue as the sky, show much so much sadness and sympathy, as if she understands what it's like to be controlled by the magic of the Gunuds as well. Her little lips turn downwards, a frown not of pity, but resignation, as though she had accepted that he would be cold to her before she even came to meet him. Then there is the matter of her hands, which are so tiny and frail, resting on the pads of his paw. Slowly she moves his paw onto her lap, where it takes up the whole space, his claws as big as her torso. She looks up at him and answers in a soft voice,

"No. It's because no one wants to die."

For a moment, he thinks that he's dreaming.

Bathsheba takes her wand off and holds it above his palm, green light emitting from the top. She moves her wand up and down the nasty cut on his paw. As she does so, he feels immense relief flood through his body. All the pain that was bothering him fades away as a burst of energy fills his bones. The winter's cold no longer bites into his skin, being replaced by an odd warmth that emits from the child.

When she finishes, she gently traces where the injury had been, feeling around for anything she may had missed. Giano finally closes his eye, the world turning light blue and gray. Even the grass around them appears like muddy snow now, not the green it had been earlier.

Bathsheba stands, and smiles very gently at him.

"Do you have any other injuries?"

Except for his hunger, nothing else pains him anymore. Cautiously he lifts himself up, testing his palm.

The girl turns away.

"Uh, Jiro." The magician pauses, before turning back to him. He looks down at his previously wounded paw. "My name's Jiro."

Bathsheba smiles wider at him.

"That's a good name."

* * *

 _"The Manticores are a proud and hardworking race. They are herbivores, and build underground cities with their paws, which contain sharp claws used to dig against hard earth. I have studied them extensively during my research, and through much analysis I have formed a schedule which best accommodates their skills. If you please, I highly suggest that we implement this schedule as soon as possible, so that production increases. The act of overworking this species has caused an increase death rate that outweighs the birth rate; if we do not begin to shape the work hours of this species and many more, there will soon be a sharp decrease in production levels, which will cause major public backlash. And we certainly don't want that, now do we?"_

-Letter to the Overseer of the Manticore Gunud, written by Professor Bathsheba of the University of Trignon, Species Studies Chief Scientist. [Letter also contains research on the Manticores and a detailed labor schedule.]

(For the longest time, Bathsheba always considered her work to be her pride.)

* * *

Tamar is…

 _"Beautiful."_

So, so beautiful.

 _"Innocent."_

As innocent as a freshly bloomed tulip in spring, opening her pale eyes for the world to admire.

 _"Sweet."_

Sweeter than honey and chocolate, her small, squishy face wrinkling as she gurgles up at her mother with seriousness. Bathsheba smiles widely and lowers her face to the girl, cooing right back. She presses kisses to the child's forehead and cheeks, making the baby let out happy little murmurs of love.

 _"So…"_

Bathsheba holds her newborn close to her chest, gently rocking back and forth with the infant in her arms.

 _"So…"_

"You are gorgeous, Tamar," Bathsheba whispers. "You are special. And I love you."

 _"So perfect."_

She closes her eyes, pressing her forehead to her daughter's. In the darkness and the warmth of the child, she feels a thousand fluttering wings across her cheeks and down her arms. The voices sing to her a lullaby from long ago, a melody meant now for her daughter. They echo one another in choruses of unexplainable wonder, praising the birth of Bathsheba's Tamar.

Slowly, Bathsheba hums with them, rocking her child as the tears fall down her cheeks. There is no one else whom Bath has ever loved more.

* * *

"I wanted a son."

Bath looks up at David, her face blank. She does not seem angry-

 **Slap**.

The feeling of skin on skin sounds bad, but it hurts worse. David's face snaps to the side, facing the window looking out to the city beyond the palace. His wife gave birth in their bedroom, unable to move from the bed. Now, the child only hours old, she still finds the strength to slap her husband with surprisingly fast reflexes. David raises a hand to his cheek, slowly turning back toward Bathsheba. He rubs the place where her palm made the most solid impact, blinking away the remnants of shock.

"I-"

"Shut up." Bathsheba stops him, her voice cold and direct. It's not loud, and yet it fills the room. Tamar, the small babe, still sleeps soundly in her mother's arms. There is silence for a minute. David doesn't know why he's keeping quiet, his eyes locked onto the steely, unchanging glare Bathsheba levels onto him. She speaks again. "You asked for a child. You never asked for a son. You asked for a child. And I gave you a child. I do not care if you decide to go searching for a son with another woman. But don't you dare tell me that my Tamar is anything less than perfect, David."

He stares at her.

It's true. He did not say that he wanted a son. He thought she'd understand that that is what he wanted, a boy, but now that simple err seems unimaginably stupid. He should've known better than to leave such an important aspect in the hands of fate, especially since he's long since acknowledged and admired Bathsheba's resilience against the scripted play of God. Until he knew her, he was unimaginably lonely. The hollowness of the world hit him over and over, the course of fate drilling into him a permanent apathy to others. He thought with his whole heart that he had every step of fate ingrained in his head.

Then he first laid eyes on Bathsheba. As he watched her, and saw her break and bend fate to her will, he grew fascinated. She is an anomaly, a rule-breaker, in a world where God dictates all. Now, she has corrupted the one part of fate he desperately wanted to come true. There is reason, which bites at his stomach and pounds in his temple, and then there is anger, which, with burning hands, ties knots in his jaw. But there is something else too. Something that overcomes the others, something cool and calming that eases his tense shoulders and brings a smile to his lips.

 _Relief?_

David throws everything else to the wind.

He lurches forward, grasping Bathsheba's face. With her cheeks in his palms, it's easy for him to press his lips against hers. She jolts back, her free hand grabbing at his as if to pull him off, but with Tamar in her arms, there is no way she can do such a thing. David kisses her, and he kisses her hard, without restraint or hesitance. He pulls back just as roughly as he leaned in, a sly smile crossing over his lips. Her own lips look bruised and dazed, her normally cool and cold eyes alarmed.

"You're right, my dear," He croons. "I should be more grateful."

* * *

 _I find myself wishing my little Tamar will never grow up._

 _She has my hair and eyes, yet her mother's beauty. But somehow, she does not look like either of us. Her gentleness seems to know no bounds, and it's been like that since the day my wife brought her into this world. Just a tiny little thing, she hardly cries, and if she wants me, she'll wiggle back and forth in her mother's arms, eyes never leaving mine and hand outstretched in a pitiful call for attention. When I cradle her, the world feels whole. She disappears into my arms, a tiny treasure only I can see, and gurgles out her sweet melody of innocence._

 _I think I love her. But for a man who hasn't felt love in centuries, I cannot be truly sure._ _When I asked Bathsheba, she held my face in her hands and told me that even if I didn't, there was no way she'd ever let me forget the perfect child she gave me._ _I will not forget her. My Tamar is perfection in it's greatest, most ultimate form. She puts Illah to shame with her delicacy and naive giggle, her tender age and all-knowing eyes seeping into my soul. I can never forget her. Bathsheba, I can never forget that child now that I've met her._ _It's Illah's curse, I'm aware. I thought that Bathsheba's coldness and affections was what I desired most, a temptation placed beside me by a cruel and calculating God. But now I see that was just the first piece of the pain. To curb my plans, he's destroying his own fate by placing a child I cannot help but love into my arms._

 _He gave me a daughter so sweet that I cannot help but wish her eternal happiness. If I were to become God, I feel it would only be right to give this to my Tamar._

 _Tamar is my dearest child._

 _But you see, I truly hate myself for it._

* * *

David sits alone in his workshop, a month after the birth of his daughter.

A portrait faces him, propped up on an easel. Upon it is a familiar face, a face that he's needed to visit time after time just to remember. But for some reason, today, it is painful to trace the lines of the face, study the beauty the woman painted possesses. He cannot lift his eyes up to meet hers, even though he used to hungrily devour her features.

Perhaps it's the guilt.

But he thinks it's the self-loathing.

He can stay here for too long, he knows, as his poor Bath is still recovering from childbirth and little Tamar requires his attention before she slumbers. Not to mention the idea of sleep is very inviting- Tamar likes waking early and won't stop crying until one of her parents put her to sleep again ("Bath…She wants her mommy…" "Put your daughter back to sleep or enjoy the floor.").

The memory makes him grin, but an unwavering grey gaze makes it falter.

"Hello…" He says, looking to the ceiling. He's addressing the painted lady, but cannot look at her. "Do you hate me? I…Never meant for this. A wife and a daughter...I find myself with a headache some days."

He smiles bitterly, his hands fisting.

"I-" His throat constricts. He cannot speak, his own pride keeping him from opening his mouth and confessing his sins. For a moment, it is though he is a younger man again, only just seeing Ill Illah for the first time. The clear memory of the way he fell to the floor as a warm, white tentacle wrapped around him is ingrained into his head. But this time, it is Abigail, not Illah, that he is weak before.

"Abigail, I fear she has grown too close," David closes his eyes, trying to keep her image out of his sight. But it's always there, always watching. "I fear that I've found myself vying for her attention like a lovesick boy. And her baby is so precious, Abigail."

David opens his eyes, sighing. His hands loosen their tension, and he finally looks at her. It's just a painting, but he knows this woman so, so well. Her painstakingly recreated appearance that took him so long to make, that he learned to paint for. He soaks in her soft blond curls, her slight smile, her nonjudgemental eyes. He wishes that her gaze was as piercing as he thought it felt.

"I fear, Abigail, that I have made a place in my heart for Bathsheba and Tamar."

* * *

 _"Tamar turned five today. I love her so dearly."_

-Arba's personal diary

* * *

Arba loves Tamar so dearly.

She watches, with fascination, the steady rise and fall of the five year old's chest. She reaches forward with gentle hands, stroking the girl's long black hair and smooth pink cheeks, a smile spreading across her face. Just moments ago the child had been crying, a nightmare having had awoken her from slumber. Arba remembers the soft knocking on her door, and her own surprise when she saw the young mistress standing in the doorway shyly. Tamar had explained that father had just gotten home from a trip, and he must be so tired, and she doesn't want to bother him since he nearly fell asleep earlier when they were playing…And mother, too, was working so hard today, and-

Arba had taken the child's hand as she was blabbering and lead her back to her bedroom. She set the girl into her bed and pulled the covers up her to chin, tucking the covers underneath the girl's body so that she was swaddled as if she was a baby again. Then Arba told her stories. Little stories, the ones about the prince and the manticore and the Elder who fell in love with a pauper, a story not unlike Tamar's own parents'...The Princess had listened for a while until her limbs seemed to grow heavy, and her eyelids closed slowly.

Tamar is sleeping now, but Arba doesn't leave. She stays, watching the child's eyelids flicker with dreams. She means to go, but keeps thinking ' _just one more minute_ '. There's something too perfect about being there, about the warmth of the room and the way Tamar breathes so quietly. She's entranced by the innocence of it all. As much as it hurts, Arba has found that she loves Bathsheba's Tamar. It's hard not to; Tamar radiates light and joy. Arba has never seen the child throw a fit when she doesn't get what she wants; has never seen her cry over spilled milk; has never seen her frown in disgust at other people.

Arba has never seen nor met such a perfect child before. Whenever the conversation turns to Tamar, there is no one in the Palace who doesn't smile. Even the imposing Elders are flustered when the Princess skips up to them and ask them innocent questions like, 'what's your favorite color?'.

 _Well…_

Arba frowns.

 _Almost everyone._

There is one Elder who doesn't seem to… _Enjoy_ the presence of the Princess. The only time he isn't scowling at Tamar is when David is looking; then he transforms his face into a pleasant expression. Arba's sure that she's just imagining it...After all, Bathsheba has told her that Elder Joab is merely a man with a bitter-looking face, and to not worry about it. Still, Arba can't shake the feeling that Joab doesn't like the princess, nor her mother. Bathsheba shrugs it off whenever Arba brings it up, and Arba should too; her mistress is much more wise than she.

Arba should shrug it off.

But once, just once...She _knows_ Bathsheba's face went white when Joab knelt down and smiled coldly at Tamar. And she _saw_ how Bathsheba had quickly ushered Tamar away from Joab after that. And she _caught_ David frowning deeply from the sidelines, his eyes flickering between the Elder and his daughter. Which means that something is going on that she's not aware of. She may just be a simple servant, but she isn't blind, and can sense the tension between the Queen and the Elder. Arba fists her hands, quietly raising from the stool set by Tamar's bed.

She looks down at the Princess, and makes a vow.

 _I will not let anyone harm you, Tamar. I will never let anyone harm you._

* * *

OOOOHHOOOHOhhhhhh Hi guys.

How'd ya like the chapter? I know I promised fluff, but unfortunately I mixed up events from next chapter with events in this chapter...Oops XD. I'm starting school soon, which sucks a lot -.- I will try to keep a steady pace for my writing, but I'm enrolled in a lot of advanced classes this year, which may set me back a bit. Not that I'm not already a late updater... :P

 **Arba:** Arba, darling, keep being you. You are perfect. And you are so cute and motherly _ohmygodwhycan'tyoubehapppppyyyyy?_

 **David & Tamar: **Okie dokie, so here is a little explanation about David's and Tamar's relationship: David sees Tamar as an example of Bathsheba's ability to break fate, which, tbh, is completely true. The reason why he feels relieved after being slapped by Bath (Bath slapped some sense into him LOL) was because, in a way, Bath giving birth to Tamar is yet another show of his wife's ability to break the fate that made him so lonely in the first place. Even though he was angry, it made him feel good to know that, with Bath around, he won't be alone. That's frankly one of the primary reasons he's always been so attracted and attached to her. And, well, even evil people gotta love Tamar XD

 **Abigail:** The mysterious, painted lady's identity has been revealed! Who is Abigail? What is her purpose? Why does she mean so much to David, to the point that he's obsessed with her? SO MANY QUESTIONSSSSS.

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	16. Chapter 16: Love

Hey guys! I know you guys probably thought I gave up on this story or died, but luckily, I am back :) Sorry for the long wait, I never intended to have such a gap between the publication of this chapter and the last. Trust me, I have not given up writing just yet. It's just that I've been really, _really_ busy with school work. I'm a Junior now and the classes I've taken are twenty types of difficult. Sorry guys, I really am. I just can't really handle much more stress, and because of that I've sacrificed a lot of time previously used for writing so that I can relax from the pressures of my school. Luckily, this chapter _is_ longer than the last...And includes a lot of fluff! :) :) :)

 **QUESTIONS:**

 **¿Betsabe va a reencarnar igual que David que reencarno en simbad? Y ¿betsabe va encontrarse con simbad en su siguiente vida? Ya que David juro no dejar a betsabe ni en la muerte y creo que en la otra vida tampoco la dejará. (Is Bathsheba going to reincarnate the same way that David reincarnates as Sinbad? And is Bathsheba going to encounter Sinbad in her second life? Since David swore that he wouldn't leave Bathsheba in death, I think that he wouldn't leave her in the other life either.)** : Sorry if I mistranslated the last bit wrong, I'm not as good at Spanish as I should be, having studied it for five years XD For your first question, that's a secret ;) I've been thinking about writing a sequel, and have even begun setting up the plot- but originally yes, the first draft for this story actually had the prologue being a quick summary of Bathsheba's life and her death/reincarnation. Things go differently in this story though. But would you guys like a sequel? I think it's coming along to be quite good, actually. The main character has quickly become one of my favorite OCs, in addition to Badroulbadour from SS and Bathsheba.

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

CHAPTER 16: Love

* * *

Joab has to watch Tamar in order to understand her. He spies on her little hands, which are quick to pick up foreign objects to inspect. He studies her curious, wide eyes, which alway search for answers. And finally, he considers her pureness, a blank slate of unwritten morals. If Joab didn't know who this naive little child was, he'd think her a perfect example of an orthodox child. Sincere and sheltered, she could easily be persuaded into believing the other species were monsters lurking in the wilderness.

But he does know who she is- who her _mother_ is. It's difficult now for Joab to even _lie_ about his loyalty to the Queen. And, though she is sweet simplicity, Tamar is Bathsheba's child.

With that in mind, Joab tried to convince David to start Tamar's schooling, though without success. He _thought_ he was successful at first. Tamar started sessions with a tutor, and Joab believed his word had finally triumphed over the beast Queen's. Then he learned Tamar was simply studying basic writing, reading and arithmetic; not the key moral teachings of the church. He was furious and didn't hide it from David. He warned the King that, at this rate, Tamar would become like her mother.

David stared at him for a long time, his face expressionless. Then it morphed into a more considerate expression, his face softening. His eyes wandered upwards, examining the ceiling as if it were a beloved face.

 _"Maybe I want her to be like her mother,"_ He said, a tiny smile gracing his face. The horror Joab felt didn't go away for weeks after that. But what struck fear in his heart was the way David turned back to him, his eyes darkening. He drawled low and threateningly, _"Is there something wrong with that?"_

Joab denied it, pretended he didn't mean what he said.

Oh, but he meant it, and he fears even more for David. He fears for Alma Torran. He fears, even though he hates himself for it, Bathsheba and her power. For that reason, for that end…

He looks upon Tamar, mindlessly playing with the daughter of a maid, a purity being tainted by her own blood.

...He'll do what is right.

* * *

 _"Little one,_

 _What does it feel like, to be great? I've missed you so much that nowadays it's hard to remember your soul."_

-"A Letter to a Friend", hanging in Professor Saul Gibeath's office.

* * *

There was a time in Saul's life where he both loved and envied his young student. His love for her was a fatherly love that sprang out of his own loneliness. Saul was alone because he had always saw _things_. His earliest memory is of watching beautiful creatures float lightly in the air, their bodies no bigger than a butterfly's. They appeared to only be made out of two pure white wings melded together at the ends, no torso or head to speak of. He named them _soul_. He has never heard them speak, but he often saw them fly through the air, their wings flapping gently. He refused to believe what he saw wasn't real, and he was proclaimed a crazy genius by people who didn't understand.

Saul struggled for greatness, and it was hard. He fell in love, and even had a child once, and his family finally made him feel understood. Yet even that broke apart, leaving him a husk. There is limited courage and limited strength to every person, and Saul hit his the moment his wife died of grief after hearing of their son's death. So he hated. Every person hates at one time or another, though not everyone has limited hatred. Saul has limited hatred. What's one to do when they hit that mark, when they become sick of their own being?

They could die.

But Saul gave up. He dropped his hat, smiled at the suns, and accepted that he played the game of life and lost. Then, loudly, he decided to give up the precious "sanity" that everyone seemed so keen on protecting; spread his hands to _soul_ and let them wash over him with their love. He managed to keep his position as a professor, though he isn't sure how. He hardly cared if he was a pompous teacher or a lousy bum in the streets. All he wanted was to dedicate his life to what he _saw_ , and what he saw was a hungry world. Starving people looking for temporary fixes flock to cities, and sated pigs doll themselves up as churchgoers and mercilessly steal scraps from the poor. There is no fairness, no equality, and the hierarchy of the human social structure became more rigid, more cold, and more sadistic. Saul wanted to help, he truly did, but he knew only someone loved by _soul_ could be the savior, and while he was blessed, he was not that blessed.

It was around the time that he finally finished his masterpiece, the mediocre and poorly reviewed book called _The Role of Man_ , that he met Bathsheba. Oh, he loved her. It was not little Bathsheba's fault that she became the fascination and darling of a madman, but it was her error that she didn't notice the sorrow and pain she brought him. There were others before her who tried to become his apprentice, but they were false prophets who refused to feed their souls with truth. Instead, they all eventually strode down a path of sin and tainted themselves with empty meals, smiling ignorantly at the world around them.

Bathsheba did not.

She saw the truth and knew it; and from a young age had a maturity that fit sadly well on her. She never strayed her eyes with want towards earthly possessions, and nevered sighed in love sickness over a boy. She stuck to a path that was much too straight and narrow, but Saul could find no fault with how Bath listened to her heart, to her soul. What she wanted she went for, and she did not deny herself. Saul loved her, and he envied her, and sometimes, in the dark of the night as he stared at a closet full of old dresses, he hated her.

But when he lost her, when Bathsheba married a man named David, Saul became despondent. He needed his little student to light the way when he was scared, he longed to see her soft smile after a philosophical breakthrough. Which is why, when a letter from little Bathsheba- _Queen Bathsheba Jehoahaz Abraham_ \- comes one day, he stares at it for a long time. Then he takes a sip of liquor, hating the taste passionately, and sits still in his desk chair. Does he want to read the letter? Of course. He wants to rip it open and devour its contents. But he is afraid. He doesn't want to read the letter and realize that his Bathsheba has changed, that his promised savior, too, has become lost down the road of ignorance and sin. It's fearful.

Then, slowly, as his lecture hall full of students look on and wait for the rest of his speechI, he dramatically gasps,

"Ah, but she has no soul! Little Bath, what could you want from this wise old man? I have no food for you anymore."

And he reads the letter.

* * *

 _Bathsheba is not a woman with many wants. There are few possessions she needs, and even fewer desires that she craves._

 _But what she does want, what her heart longs for, she desperately [underlined] needs. The hunger for knowledge, the starvation for it, used to consume her. She'd spend hours in libraries, forgetting to eat and sleep, researching a topic until her body gave out. Her mind is a dangerous thing not because of her astonishing intelligence, but because of it's constant appetite for education._

 _She wants new. She wants the undiscovered. And if I had never come to her with my deal, if I hadn't made her my wife, she'd still be at that university, studying the other species for the rest of her days. She probably planned to live for centuries, collecting data and studying everything that could be known. I cannot blame her. I once had that same spark, that same desperation to_ know _. It's a strange thing, seeing myself in another person. But Bathsheba never ceases to amaze me, not even now that we've been married for five years._

 _There is one more similarity between us._

 _Bathsheba craves something I once craved as well, a greedy emotion that, I'm sure, she's always ignored and suffered with. But she fed it once. She fed it once like how I fed it once too many years ago. She gave into her need and now she has to have a fix every day or else she is distraught._

 _Bathsheba needs_ love _. I know she's always been fascinated with it, watching it in others and studying it in those close to her. She spent time with her student Nathan and his wife Sara because she saw love there, and she eagerly grew close to them to feel the warmth of it radiate off of their marriage. And her mentor, Saul Gibeath- yes, she knew he loved her and she wanted to love him too, but kept herself always just a little distanced so that she wouldn't be stung by the sweet poison._

 _[A line started, and crossed out.]_

 _[A line started, and crossed out.]_

 _[A line started, and crossed out.]_

 _[Sloppily, hastily, conflictedly,] And, in a romantic sense, she may have even considered Ugo to be somewhat of a potential...Romantic interest._

 _She always resisted._ _She always stayed strong and kept herself cold, kept herself smart._

 _But then she made the fatal mistake of looking down into her child's face and falling deeply in love._

 _Yes. More than anything, my Bathsheba needs Tamar._

* * *

"Tamar," Bathsheba lightly calls, sitting on a tree stump. From her left, the thumping of feet on wet grass reveals her young daughter. Her feet are dirty and the end of her white dress is splattered with mud, her chest heaving in and out with the force of her running. She does not seem to notice this, her sky-blue eyes sparking in the bright afternoon light. When she runs to her mother, her long waves of black hair follow behind, each strand shiny and clean.

"Mommy!" Tamar squeals, throwing her arms around her mother's waist. Bathsheba smiles down at the child, brushing thick hair away from her sunshine-face before pressing kisses to her forehead and cheeks.

"Hello my love," Bath warmly greets her, kneeling. She can feel the wet grass through her robes, but she's never cared about clothing much anyway. "What are you playing today?"

"I'm playing hide-and-go-seek with Arba," Tamar says seriously. Then she tugs on her mother's arm. "Wanna play?"

"I do," Bathsheba picks up her daughter, swooping down to scoop up her staff as well. In a moment, they're hovering above the ground and flying up, going over the trees.

"Mommy!" Tamar squeals, hugging Bath tightly. Bath laughs, moving to sit upon her staff with her daughter on her lap. Even though Tamar is now five years old, she is still light as a feather. "Wow! I wanna learn to fly!"

"I'll teach you when you're older," Bath promises, before adding, "If your father stops being so overprotective."

"Daddy just loves me." Tamar say with a certain degree of triumph. It makes her mother burst into laughter. "Why're you laughing?"

"Ah, there's Arba!" Bathsheba quietly motions for Tamar to be silent so that they can sneak up on the handmaid.

"Young mistress!" Arba calls, her eyebrows furrowing with each passing moment. Bathsheba feels for her friend. Tamar has a talent for hide-and-go-seek, and causes both Arba and Ester headaches whenever they are made to play. Even Bathsheba has problems finding the little Princess now and again, though she hardly worries for her child's safety. Tamar has proven again and again to have good judgement with both situations and people. Bathsheba creeps up from behind, before gently setting herself down on the ground with Tamar perched on one hip. A small grin spreads over her face despite her desire to stay calm, and she jumps out, throwing her free arm around Arba's shoulders.

Arba gasps loudly (Bathsheba had been hoping for a scream), and whirls around, her eyes wide with shock. Then she realizes her "attacker" is merely a smiling Bathsheba and a wildly giggling Tamar and places a hand over her heart, breathing heavily.

"Oh, Mistress!"

"Sorry, Arba darling." Bathsheba places Tamar down, who runs over and hugs Arba's legs.

"Sorry, Arba! Mommy wanted to play a joke on you- isn't she mean?"

"Hey." Bath eyes her child, and Tamar giggles some more, taking off running back into the palace gardens. Arba fans herself, sighing laboriously.

"You gave me a fright, Mistress!"

"Ah, you don't have to pretend to be afraid anymore." Bathsheba chuckles. "Magician-clones are trained their whole lives to protect Church officials from intruders. You probably knew the whole time where we were."

Arba smiles sheepishly, scratching the back of her head.

"Sorry, mistress. I just thought Tamar would like it if your joke went off without a hitch."

"You thought correctly," Bathsheba looks out at the gardens, watching her daughter gather lilies in her hands. "Thank you for pleasing her."

* * *

Hours of screaming, furious pain, and little beadlets of sweat on his wife's face.

That's what it takes for Nathan's child to be born.

He tries, he really does, not to be afraid. But even the best men crumple before their kin, and Nathan is no better. The moment he sees Sara sobbing over a crying baby, he nearly collapses into a puddle of 'I love you's. He embraces his wife and cautiously strokes his child's- his _son's_ \- face, shaking his head wildly.

"No." He murmurs, holding back tears. "I won't cry."

"Oh, darling," Sara kisses him, smiling through her delicate, joyful tears. "Have you ever seen such a beautiful baby? Isn't he beautiful?"

"Handsome." He corrects. "I'm sure he prefers handsome."

"Nathan Jr." Sara cooes, patting down the boy's blond hair. Nathan feels somewhat tiffed that his son looks exactly like Sara instead of him. Sure, his wife points out the fact that the baby has his cheeks and his jaw and his nose and his forehead, but his skin color and eye color and _hair_ color are her's.

"We are not naming him _Nathan Jr._ " Nathan interjects, lifting himself up. "I don't like "Junior". It's...I dunno. But he should be his own person."

"But _I_ love your name!" Sara pouts, rocking the boy, her amethyst eyes glowing with passion. She looks tired and ruffled, but still beautiful. His heart melts a little just looking at her, and he feels an intense sting deep in his heart when he begins thinking about the pain and suffering he's soon going to put her through. He knows he should quit it, the Cause. But he can't. He's too obsessed. Too attached. And, he thinks, looking at his firstborn child, he has too many hopes for the future.

"Alright. Something similar then." He finally relents.

"Something similar…" Sara hums, before sinking a little lower into the pillows. Her face relaxes, grows warm and soft. "Ah, I know."

"What?" Nathan holds her hand, unable to keep himself from kissing her knuckles over and over again. Sara's smile brings sunlight into the room, and Nathan feels like summer has come to their little house. Her eyes meet his, and she lifts her hand to his face. Then she sets up their sleeping infant so his face is towards his father's, a perfect view.

" _Ithnan_ ," Sara breaths, giggling. "Doesn't it suit him?"

Ithnan opens his purple eyes, and sneezes.

* * *

"Daddy!" Tamar gasps happily, her little eyes sparkling. David's face turns from calm and collected to startled in a mere second.

"Hello," The pure King awkwardly greets, kneeling to get eye to eye with his daughter. Tamar giggles, reaching forward to attach herself to David in what's she describes as a "big hug".

"How was your trip?" She asks enthusiastically, prompting him to pick her up. He does so with slight hesitation, making Bathsheba release a small laugh at his plight. He turns to glare at her, but just as he does Tamar kisses his cheek.

"It went well," He tells her, unsure how else to handle her innocent affections other than with gentleness. Bath watches with a certain degree of, though she knows she shouldn't, _fondness_. She can understand David's conflicting emotions quite well- neither of them expected to love their daughter so much. Whenever David leaves the castle for a period of time he is able to break Tamar's spell over him- but once he returns, it takes little to no time for him to fall back into the child's grasp. It seems to Bathsheba that David is still trying to figure out how to balance being a psychopathic villain and a doting father.

"Can we play?" Tamar pleads sweetly, her eyes big and shiny. It's more effective than any strength spell the way it pierces right through David's heart. Overwhelmed, the Elder looks to her for help, only for Bathsheba to smile evilly.

"He'll do you one better!" She coos in a very motherly fashion. "We'll go on a picnic."

David's face changes from pleading to shocked and betrayed. The child in his arms starts squealing with joy.

* * *

" _Nathan_!"

Nathan whirls around, panic racing through his chest. A desperate call like that (from Jonathan no less) means that they've must've been found out, and that they must quickly destroy all evidence of the cause before the military arrives-

"Jon, you burn the letters-!"

"Nathan, my son is being born!"

Nathan stands very still for a moment, before coughing out a groan of relief.

"Oh thank _Illah_ ," He raises his hands to the sky, letting his shoulders drop. Jonathan still looks panicked and shaky, his eyes unable to focus on Nathan's face. "I thought we were doomed."

"My _son_. That Merab let me have with her!"

"...Isn't she your wife?"

"She only likes me sometimes." Jonathan dismisses Nathan's words, pressing his hands to his temples very harshly. Nathan noties now the sweat running down his neck and the wild look on his face, the fear.

"Well, settle down," Nathan tries, reaching out to clasp a hand on the messenger's shoulder. "It'll be okay, we just have to head over to your house-"

"Of course!" Jonathan jumps back, scaring the brunette. "I have to go the _house_! I have to be with her while she gives _birth_!"

"Well, yeah-"

Then Jonathan is off, running like a madman out of Nathan's office and down the university hallways. Nathan watches for a moment before scratching the back of his head and deciding it may be worthwhile to go and be there with his friend. By the time he makes it to the house, he's thankful to learn that the whole "birthing" part is over with, and the midwife gives him a bright smile as she leaves through the front door.

The scent of fabrics and dyes fill his nose as he enters, as well as the familiar scent of ink and parchment from Jonathan's study. Nathan pauses at the entrance to the study, looking in. He's shocked to see the papers and formulas strewn about, but then feels a sad pang of pity in his chest. He remembers just how genius Jonathan is, and how he often forgets it because of the rough life the chocolate skinned man suffers with.

But that pity disappears when he enters the bedroom. What he finds there is the equivalent to what he saw when he entered the room after Sara gave birth- he finds a crying couple cradling their precious child, their eyes filled with the gentleness and love that prove their humanity. Jonathan looks up with blurry eyes, looking dopy and almost comical with happiness.

"Hey, Nathan!" He waves his friend over, laughing over his cries. Usually Merab would eye him with distaste as he entered, but today she's too full of glee to even manage an eye roll, a faint smile playing on her lips. With Jonathan's eyes on Nathan, Merab looks at her husband with an expression so tender and passionate that Nathan hardly knows why she always acts so aloof to the poor, lovestruck sap. It's obvious that she loves him just as much, if not more.

"My baby boy-" Jonathan points to the bundled up baby sitting in Merabs arms, grinning so wide Nathan can see his wisdom teeth. "Do you see him? He looks just like me!"

"He has my eyes," Merab interjects, stroking the child's dark purple hair. "He does, but he's sleeping right now, so you can't tell."

"My boy," Jonathan laughs- _giggles_. "Nathan. I have a _son_."

"We can have playdates," Nathan chuckles, slapping a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Hey, what's the kid's name?"

The couple share a look, Merab raising herself up with pride.

"He's named after my father," She explains, showing the infant to Nathan even more closely. "His name is Setta."

* * *

 _We went on a picnic today._

* * *

As Bathsheba (and to an extent, David,) promised, they go on a picnic. Tamar can't believe her luck, asking Arba and Ester lots of questions about what one _does_ on a picnic. Amused, the handmaids tells her stories about their own experiences on trips as they dress her. Arba tells of sitting on a mountaintop with her sister as she ties Tamar's hair into two braids, both shiny and black and tied with white ribbons. Ester relates the first date she ever went on with her husband, all while carefully selecting a power blue dress for their young mistress to wear. When they are done, they admire their handiwork and hand Tamar off to her mother, who gently pinches her cheek before setting the girl on her staff.

* * *

 _It was a strange picnic._

* * *

Once at the picnic, The parents hardly have to do anything at all to keep their little child entertained. Tamar always has some sort of topic to broach or game to play, and often contents herself with her own imagination and abundant energy. The Queen watches David as the late afternoon picnic continues, sees his face soften bit by bit as he begins to smile more at Tamar's funny stories and silly games.

* * *

 _It was very strange. I felt very strange._

* * *

They eat and talk and relax, watching the simple beauty of the meadow they picked and the sparkling waters of the lake they sit next to. When Tamar no longer is able to sit still, she jumps up and begins to collect flowers for her father, promising to make a flower crown for him to wear that is prettier than the one he usually has on.

David rolls his eyes, but lets her do as she wants, watching her from time to time to make sure she doesn't wander too close to the woods- though he can spot the black robes of the royal guard in the shadows, patrolling the area.

* * *

 _I felt hungry._

* * *

David assesses his surroundings. The summer day simmers as it draws to a close, coating the meadow in the afternoon sun. The result is a lethargic atmosphere around them, the bright quality of the colors off of the pond and the grass amplified tenfold by his sluggish eyes. David leans against a large tree, his arm wrapped around Bathsheba's shoulders. He closes his eyes, feeling Bathsheba shift to lay her head against his shoulder and rest her body against his.

"Tamar wants a sibling."

* * *

 _It was not a physical hunger._

* * *

David laughs, practically feeling Bathsheba's frown through her voice.

"She's an active little one," He hums. "Always running. She wants someone to run with her."

"She has Falan."

"True, but she's not always available."

"It's almost as if you want another child," She quips (accuses). David shrugs, opening his eyes. He sees a flash of blue and black, Tamar running in front of them to cross to the flower patch on the other side of the tree. Her silhouette on the water flashes in his eyes as he watches her go.

* * *

 _It was a need. It felt like something I felt a long time ago, and it hurt._

* * *

"Maybe," He murmurs. For a moment, he remembers that he needs a son, but then Tamar's eyes are on his as she triumphantly holds up a four-leaf clover for him to see. He smiles and nods at her, and she skips a bit higher.

David, for the first time in a very long while, is content. If he could pause life at this moment, with his innocent, docile daughter picking flowers and his not-as-cold-as-ice wife by his side, he would. Even though there are _plans_ and he has a _duty_ and what about _Abigail_ , he can't find a reason to change everything. He doesn't feel a need to die.

* * *

 _I made a mistake today._

* * *

Shockingly, he can't even muster up the desire to become God. The sensible part of his brain instantly tells him that he must stop this madness. He must separate himself from his family- no, from the two women. He must draw a line between who _they_ are and what _they_ mean and who _he_ is and what _he'll_ be.

And yet, he doesn't lift a finger.

 _"It's too much effort."_

* * *

 _I slipped up._

* * *

Yes, too much effort. He blinks once, wondering where the thought came from, but Bathsheba's hand slips into his, distracting him. She threads their fingers together tightly, and leans against him more willingly.

 _"This is best you've felt in years, admit it."_

So many questions, but no answers. Bathsheba's voice, soft and gentle but twinged with reluctant hope,

"Fine. Another child."

* * *

 _I gave in today._

* * *

He does not think about the future this child could bring. He does not think about his death. Instead, he happily thinks that his Tamar will finally have the playmate she wants so badly.

* * *

 _And now, I am hungry._

* * *

Hey guys! Thanks again for reading, and I'm sorry again about not updating sooner TT_TT I'll try harder! Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter, and if so, please review! Reviews help me work faster...XD

 **Joab** : Tsk, tsk. Joab, Joab, Joab. He may not be the most relatable guy in the world, but I hope you guys can see where he is coming from. Like how David said that his Elders have lost what makes them human, Joab has lived for centuries (I'm pretty sure I mentioned it, but he's actually only a few years younger than David) and has clearly been thinking solely of preserving the Church. Because of that, he sees Bathsheba and Tamar as obstacles who have been "corrupting" David. He definitely sees the world in a different way than the other characters- and I'm trying to present Nathan as a person who provides a different POV as well.

 **Saul:** Poor Saul! He had a hard knock life :( I wanted to make the description of his backstory longer and sadder, but I thought that doing it in any way but quick and somewhat vague wouldn't fit Saul as a character. He's a strange guy, but that's why I enjoy writing him so much XD

 **Ithnan & Setta:** SURPRISE! Hahaha, some of you probably knew. But yes, Ithnan is the son of Nathan and Sara, and Setta is the son of Jonathan and Merab, only a few months apart in age. The ages for them was never given officially, so I decided that they are four years younger than Tamar.

 **Nathan & the Cause: **Nathan is being very shady about this "Cause". I wonder what it is...Hahaha it's probably obvious XD

 **The picnic:** Bathsheba and David are going to have another child! And David is totally falling victim to the same "need" that Bathsheba gave into...Hopefully it doesn't bite him in the ass XD XD XD

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	17. Chapter 17: Destruction

Hello Everyone! Sorry for the long absence :( I'm sure y'all thought I was dead XD But nope, I'm still alive and kicking! And I'm back with chapter 17 of Catharsis! Now, onto questions...

 **Isn't Ithnan 7 years older than Sheba?:** Oh geez I don't know XD I just looked on the wiki to see their ages and nothing was listed TT_TT If something is incorrect, I deeply apologize!

 **Do you have a tumblr account by any chance?:** I do, but I kinda stopped using it XD I don't have any time for social media, unfortunately. If you wanna go see it it's liv-loves-anime.

 **Will Solomon be born?:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **Catharsis**

 **By Gold Sparrow**

CHAPTER 17: Destruction

* * *

 _"Little one, life isn't fair."_

 _"What do you mean, Saul?"_

 _"I mean," He turns his dark, melancholy eyes to her. She sees pain and horror in them, and she fears it. "That you will suffer. You will suffer terribly. And if your soul is not great and white, you shall Fall."_

* * *

Though always tender, Tamar was never frail. Her gentle spirit is complemented with her energetic, healthy little body, which aids her endeavors to bring joy to the solemn and shadowed capital. Like her mother, she loves the "big, furry creatures" that roam under the guidance of the "scary towers". She vigorously pleads with her doting father to be allowed to play with them more and more, and she giggles when her mother compliments her fine choice in playmates.

Tamar is so spirited and hopeful that the whole world grows brighter when she's around. Colors are more brilliant, scents more vivid, and tastes even more delicious. She is a miracle that is adored by the whole world, but loved the most dearly by her parents.

Tamar was never frail.

* * *

 _"How did you suffer, Saul?" Saul looks at Bathsheba with his head tilted fully back, looking crookedly at Bathsheba beside him._

 _"How did I suffer?"_

 _"What happened?" Bathsheba changes her question, recognizing the dazed, lost expression in his eyes. She wants his story, not his ramblings- though often times they are one in the same. She has to pick through the rubble of a broken man, and study his shards, before a glimpse beyond his veil of insanity is awarded to her._

 _"What happened." Saul says this not as though repeating, but stating. "What happened."_

 _A chipper smile settles on his face._

 _"I loved, Bathsheba."_

* * *

Ugo's hands won't stop shaking.

He doesn't know what to do, where to start, his eyes scanning the assembled books with dread and fear. He never looks at books that way. Books make sense. Books were always his friends when the other children wouldn't play with him. But Ugo liked looking at the other children. He liked studying the caretakers. He liked fantasizing about the guests who visited, about who they were and the adventures they've had.

Once, when he was only six, he remembers watching a girl glide through the front doors of the orphanage, her black robes fluttering about her. She had on the sash of a university professor, and her long blue hair was wrapped up on the top of her head in a bun. She eyed the children assembled before coldly greeting the head caretaker, who primly pursed her lips and managed a polite welcome.

Ugo remembers the first time he saw Professor Bathsheba of the University of Trignon.

He did not love her back then. Rather, he was awed. She was an orphan like him who grew up to become one of the most famed professors of the human world. He wanted to be like her, but he could not muster up the courage to introduce himself. Maybe that was what motivated him to work so hard as a student, when in truth all he wanted to do was read in the library. He wanted to become something, to prove that he wasn't just a nobody who didn't matter. And when he was accepted to the University of Trignon, he immediately enrolled in Professor Bathsheba's class, so that he could learn from the woman who was his role model.

 _Then_ , he fell in love with her. It was hard not to, when her eyes were so bright and clever, and her smile was a hard-won reward. He knew she didn't feel the same. Or, maybe more likely but so much worse, she was on the verge of it. Either way, it hurt so badly when she married another man. It hurt worse when that man was everything Bathsheba had claimed to hate- the embodiment of her version of evil.

That still didn't stop Ugo from loving her.

"Ugo." Jonathan shakes his shoulder, his voice a hiss. "Hey- these books, will they help? Which one first?"

"Ah," Ugo blinks away his reverie, looking down at his hands. They are still shaking, but now they do so on the top of a medical book. He grips the book and lifts it to his face, taking a nervous breath. "These- yeah, they'll help. Grab one."

"Right." Jonathan whips forward and grabs the next on the top of the pile, taking a seat across from him. "Shit. I thought this was a simple fever."

"Yeah, me too."

"But the _blood_ -"

"Let's-" Ugo interrupts, before stopping himself. He sighs, and tries again. "Let's just read, okay?"

"Yeah." Jonathan studies him for a moment, his face considerate. "If we two geniuses can't do it...Well, I guess maybe only Bathsheba can."

* * *

 _The child jolts back, shocked by his words, and not just because of how strange they are. He rarely calls her by her full name. He_ never _calls her by her full name. The professor laughs, a normal, common chuckle. It does not sound like Saul's mad cackle._

 _"I loved a long time ago. She was perfection, and I loved her. She gave me a daughter so beautiful and bright that the whole world glowed like a candle." Saul shrugs. "Then I lost both of them. And the suffering made me mad."_

 _He smiles a sad, tired smile at Bathsheba._

 _For a moment, he does not look very mad._

* * *

"Where does it hurt, darling?" The moon shines serenely through the cathedral window, beautifully illuminating the Princess's bedroom. Silken pillows and fluffy blankets lay on a large bed, a small child tucked in the middle of the nest of riches.

"I'm okay, Mommy," The Princess murmurs, her hand stroked by her mother. Queen Bathsheba smiles slightly, before laying a hand on her child's forehead. Tamar turns her head away, her eyes looking glassy.

"What's wrong, sweetness?"

"I just don't want Mommy to touch me. Or she'll get what I have."

"Oh, Tamar," Bathsheba reaches forward, kissing her daughter's face. Her heart lurches and grows pained by the weight of love bubbling there, unable to comprehend how a girl so young could be so considerate. "Don't worry about me. Let's worry about you, okay? So, does it hurt?"

"...Maybe a little," Tamar giggles, before beginning to cough relentlessly. It's a horrible thing, to hear your child cough. For a mother, it's the harshest sound in the world. It makes a mother feel weak and helpless to see their flesh and blood quiver with sickness. All Bathsheba wants to do is coddle Tamar, or, better yet, take her place. That, suddenly, is the greatest wish she has, to give everything she is so that her daughter doesn't have to hurt.

"Well," Bathsheba composes herself, not wanting Tamar to see her nerves. She smiles slightly, stroking the girl's soft hair. Tamar looks so much like David, and it almost breaks her heart all over again. "Don't you worry. Daddy's getting you the medicine, alright?"

* * *

 _"I...Don't understand. I thought that the- er- Soul made you crazy?"_

 _"The Soul?" Saul looks at her like she's the mad one. "No, no, that's not right at all. The Soul_ saved _me, Bathsheba. I could've given up all hope and died without anyone caring, but I didn't. I refused! Because I, little one," Now he grows theatrical, his voice raising. He hopes atop his desk, throwing his hands out giddily. "I have Soul! And I shall make the world sing my name before I go!"_

* * *

The worst thing about life, David decides, is the inability to control it.

That's why he must become God. He must shed his earthly skin and ascend to the heavens to claim his place as the _rightness_. There is no more greatness to this society now than there ever has been over the course of time. There has always been dissention and violence in Alma Torran, though people claim it is overpopulation that caused the divide. David doesn't believe this. From the moment he saw his mother being swallowed up by an ogre, he knew that hatred was destined- and because it was destined, all living beings were doomed.

Foolishly, he believed once he took control of the other species with the Gunuds, he had quelled the distracting disturbances of intra-species division. He never realized that his own people- the humans who he painstakingly put under his control through intense ethics training- may hold enough hatred to carry out the painful events Illah put forth through divine will.

Now, he must suffer, because it was destined to be.

* * *

 _"But...I have no intention of suffering."_

 _Bath knows the minute she says it that it sounds stupid. Naive. But Saul just smiles at her, shaking his head. Then he lets out an even, sane laugh that soon dissolves into tears. He sobs loudly, dropping to his knees atop his desk as water plops onto the wood below. She knows she shouldn't be shocked by his wild mood swing, but she is. She finds herself unable to move an inch as he cries hysterically._

 _"Oh, Bath," He says at last, wiping at his tears. She realizes that they are genuine tears, real tears for her sake. As if he knew the pain she will endure. "Everyone suffers. We don't expect it. We can't possibly know the date that it will come. Even predicting it is impossible. But it happens. And that's why I must explain it to you, Bath. So you_ know _."_

* * *

Ugo's been awake for forty hours now.

His head lolls to the side, but his fingers still move with angry precision, jotting down formula after formula. Jonathan sits at the other side of the table, deep purple circles making rings underneath his eyes.

"We'll be done soon." Ugo says, but his voice is a murmur. Jon looks up and nods, but his eyes are dull.

"Is there-"

"There is a chance." Ugo snaps. He feels horrible a moment after saying it, because he is the kind of man who thinks before he speaks. "I'm sorry. That was harsh."

By the look on Jon's face, Ugo can tell he's using the last of his clear-headedness to reign in his exhaustion-fueled irritation.

"It's alright. But honestly, Ugo, how can we expect to have the medicine finished on time?"

"Because we have to," He responds. He sounds too eager, too desperate. "There isn't another choice."

"..." Jon looks down. "I thought you loved Bathsheba."

Ugo's throat grows uncomfortably tight.

"Why do this for the child she had by another man?"

His hands fist, and he swallows a thick pill of self-hate and undescribeable mercy.

"Because," He responds at last, his energy renewed and his heart aching. "I love her too much to want her to feel pain."

* * *

 _"Know what?"_

 _Saul draws closer, too close. Every nerve in Bathsheba's body tells her to_ run _. The voices are quiet, but she feels their presence. It's almost as if they too are frightened by Saul's wild, predatory eyes. Her teacher's breath fans against her face as he speaks, and it makes her shake._

 _"You have to be strong. You have to be so, so strong."_

* * *

David watches the librarians scramble.

 _Ugo and Jonathan._

Silly pets his wife brought with her to the palace. He could have expelled them- he thought of it. But he had always felt indifferent about their placement. Now, he hates them. He hates them because they are all that stands between his child and the grim reaper, and he can't stand the thought of having them there instead of him. He could have been studying too. He did, in fact, study. Her symptoms, her ailment...But he felt as though he was missing something. This was no ordinary disease ravaging his helpless child. It was special, intense, and no one recognized its deadliness until Tamar began coughing up blood. He closes his eyes against the memory.

Now he knows why he didn't recognize the disease. The magicians know too, except unlike him, they had realized the cause earlier, and began assembling the cure.

Yes, David hates them. David is the thousand-year-old magician. He is the one with the most knowledge, the most wisdom, the most magic. He should've seen what was afflicting Tamar and instantly known what to do- not the two young half-wits racing about gathering the necessary charms and herbs for medication. It's a father's duty to protect his child. And David has failed his little girl.

 _My hunger made me love her, and now I am doomed._

 _I suppose love is also destined, isn't it?_

* * *

 _"Just remember, okay?"_

 _"Remember what?"_

 _"That there is a tomorrow. There is a_ plan _."_

 _"I don't want a tomorrow or a plan. I want to make my own future."_

 _"And you can, because you are blessed. You are the savoir. But that doesn't mean you will win, Bathsheba."_

* * *

The whiteness the birds floating around her, the solemn twitching of nurses along the walls. They are comparable, Tamar thinks, but she's too young to find out why. What is the connection between living and dying? She wants to know, but she can't, because she hasn't learned enough to understand even if someone answers her question. She has not lived enough. But luckily, her little heart is too sweet to feel desperation or sadness. Instead she cluelessly wanders the room with her gaze, watching people's faces as if they will give her the life she desires.

 _What is hope like?_

Ester's sweet eyes, jumping and moving, awaiting Ugo's arrival.

 _What is friendship like?_

Arba brushes the hair away from her eyes, a deep pain written along the creases of her face.

 _What is love like?_

Bathsheba squeezes her child's fingers, and kisses her forehead softly.

"It's okay, Tamar," Her mother whispers to her, her voice heavy and sad. "It's alright now. I know you're in pain."

"Mommy," She says back. She wants to deny the claim, but it's true. It's ever so true. She feels like her fingers are slipping on a wet rope. She wants to keep holding that rope, to keep climbing it with all her might. But her fingers are cold and her joints ache when she tries to move them, and she continues to slide down and down.

"You're in pain," Bathsheba repeats, stroking her cheeks, her hair, her voice now a heavy whisper. "I understand if you're tired, my darling. I understand."

 _I don't._

But that doesn't seem to matter anymore.

"I love you." Tamar opens her mouth to say it back, but she can't. "I love you, Tamar. I love you."

Tamar feels a deep pressure build up in her throat, and she wants to say those words one more time.

 _I love you too._

"Mommy and Daddy love you." A hot tear falls from her mother's eye onto her cheek. She stares at Bathsheba and wants to cry as well, but her eyes are dry. Why can't she control herself anymore?

 _I love you too._

"I don't think I've ever loved anyone before you."

 _I love you too._

"And I don't know if I'll love anyone after you."

 _I love you too._

"So do what's right for you, my love. And know that I-"

Her fingers give out, and the rope slips out of her grasp.

 _I love you too, Mommy._

* * *

 _"You can't win. But you can overcome."_

* * *

"Bathsheba! I have it! I have the medicine-!"

"..."

"...I...I have it."

"...Ugo."

"I'm...Too late."

* * *

 _"You can overcome."_

* * *

CH END.

So yeah, I'm pretty sad now TT_TT The main reason why this was so hard to update was because it's an important chapter and I didn't have the motivation to write it- nor did I want to write something crappy when it's supposed to be serious and grim. I hope you guys like it (even if you're crying)! Also, I appreciate all the support from the reviews- both for the current story and for a sequel (and from everyone wanting SinbadXBathsheba) :) Thanks everyone!

Also I am going to go through and update this later with edits- I had time to do a read through and fix major edits/make changes, but I want to do another deep reader for minor edits and consistency later. Love you guys!

Got any questions or suggestions? Something wrong about the chapter? Grammatical errors, something you didn't like? PM me or leave it in the reviews, I will reply and see what I can do to make the story better/clearer for y'all to understand. ILY MY DARLING READERS!

BYE~~~~~~~


	18. Chapter 18: Rain

Hey guys! I'm back! I know, it took forever...My b. I'll try not to take so long between uploads, I promise XD It's just that Magi's ending really...un-inspired me. It sucked all the motivation away. I _seriously_ disagree with a number of things that happened...It was a mess, and think most of the writers on this platform would agree that plot just took a turn for the worst- at the very least structurally. Also I changed my username everyone! I think Sparrow-chan is super cute lol.

QUESTIONS:

 **Aun después de esto ¿ betsabe tendrá a Solomon? Y ¿ lo sobreprotegera para que no le ocurra lo mismo que a su hermana mayor?** Yo pienso que este capítulo contestará a su pregunta...A también, sí, creo que Bathsheba será más protectora si ella tiene más niños. ( **Even after this, Bathsheba will have Solomon? And will she be overprotective of him so that the same thing does not happen to him as what happened to his older sister?** I think that this chapter will answer to your question...Also, yes, I think that Bathsheba will be more protective if she has more kids.)

 **Oh no, not Tamar! What did she ever do to deserve this? Poor Bathesheba! And David too! And now that Ugo failed to save Tamar in time, I wonder what will happen in his and Batheaheba's relationship? Will he feel guilty? This chapter amde me so sad. :(** That chapter made me sad too TT_TT. But an author must do what an author must do. There definitely will be drawbacks and shifts in relationships/personalities after this. We are officially moving into the second half of the story, and the atmosphere is no longer going to have hints of optimism and hope. Prepare your hearts XD.

 **By the way, I've been itching, where's Wahid?** Wouldn't you like to know? XD Lol no worries, you'll be seeing him soon...

* * *

 **Catharsis**

By Sparrow-chan

CHAPTER 18: Rain

* * *

The rain patters against the window, a calming, repetitive sound that lulls Bathsheba into a false sense of security. In the depths of winter, and only then, the days are like that: cold, dull, forgetful. Time drags on without sunlight, an eternity lasting barely a month. Night is hardly different than day, with only a trickle of energy buzzing anxiously at the bottom of her stomach.

Then David takes an audible breath, and reality comes crashing down on her.

It's terrible, that reality. She feels as though a rug has been pulled out from under her, except that there is no floor underneath to stop her fall. The full force, the entire _meaning_ , of Tamar's death hasn't been made clear to her- and, terrifyingly, she doesn't think she'll ever understand it. She's not a Queen or a scholar anymore. She's a grieving mother- a childless mother- a mother wondering where in the world her daughter is hiding. Is she holding Arba's hand, is she dancing in the rain, are tulips being pealed open by her little fingers?

It's too cold for Tamar to be outside. She'll get _sick_ -

 _I just want to know_ why.

"...Bath?"

Pitter, patter. Pitter, patter. The rain on the window sounds like Tamar's feet. They are- were- are always moving, those pretty little feet. Always rushing, always skipping, always dancing. Now they're as still as the long winter stays. Bathsheba can't stand the thought of looking at her child's body that still. When she looked, Tamar glowed with energy and light. Her cheeks were rosy and pink, as if she had just finished playing in the gardens was preparing for another round of tag.

"...It's time. We have to go."

David's voice is far away. She wants it to be farther away. Gone, actually. She hasn't been able to look at him. Tamar had been half of him. If she looks into that casket, inside will be half of him and half of her, pieces of themselves they can never get back. What kind of mother would allow her child to play in the mud, on a day like this? Tamar doesn't- didn't- doesn't mind getting dirty, but she'd hate a bed of dirt and rain.

"Bathsheba, please…"

He doesn't use the word _please_. By instinct she looks at him, but bringing her eyes to his chin is too much and she retches. The half-bile tastes almost as bad as her tears on the day her baby went to see Illah.

"You have to come. We can't ignore this."

His words bring her back to earth, back to their bedroom, the bedroom she gave birth to Tamar in-

"I-I _can't_." She stands from her chair by the window, her pulse racing. Her chest heaves laboriously. A pain wrecks her body without an origin, constricting her field of vision to her husband. David grasps her by the arms tightly, unforgivingly. He is never so rough. He never needs to be. Bathsheba looks away. She can't look at him. Oh, if only she could look at him. If she could lean on him. If she could give him all her pain so she wouldn't have to suffer so damn much. David searches her face for something, digging around in her expression. She feels his gaze rather than sees it. She has always been able to feel that hot, summer-like stare, especially these frigid, stale days.

"I know. But we _failed_ , Bathsheba."

"I didn't fail!" She bursts out, unable to keep it in. She looks in David's direction, but her vision blurs so badly she can't make out his face. That pain shows it's claws: chest spasms, her hands shake, her jaw squeezes so tightly that opening her mouth is practically impossible. Her words come out sloppy and slurred, as if she had been drinking. She hasn't, but it seems like a good idea- almost as good an idea as shattering a flower vase had been the morning after Tamar's death. "I didn't fail. I love Tamar. I was by her side every day while she was sick because she's my _daughter_. My _daughter_ , David. I love her. Do you? Do you love her like I do? Because-"

Her voice cracks and she collapses. David catches her, his arms pulling her into his embrace. Her legs give out and so does her pride, bringing her down to his chest as he struggles to keep her upright. One of her hands latches onto David desperately, her fingers digging into his muscles as if begging him to take care of her. Her other hand bangs on him, pounding against his chest spastically so he can feel the same heartbreak as her. The "cold-as-ice" beast Queen, famous for her composure, confidence and cockiness, becomes a mess in black, a puddle of despair and grief. She sobs hysterically, whining like a dog for the child she so desperately misses. It is an epic fall from someone respected to someone pitied.

David cradles his broken wife. He sinks down to the floor with the unsteady woman and gathers her onto his lap, soothingly stroking her hair as she disintegrates. Bathsheba still can't see him, she refuses to. But she sees his hair, so black and familiar, and moans in despair against his shoulder.

"We have to go." He repeats, his voice soft. "We have to go to the funeral, Bath."

"Darling."

"What?"

"Darling." Tears bubble over her eyelids once more. She cries as she speaks, but can't help it, closing her eyes against the world. "Not Bath. Darling. I'm still "Darling", aren't I?"

He is quiet.

"Darling," His voice gets even softer. "Darling, we have to go to the funeral."

"Her funeral." She corrects again. "It's her's."

His hands begin to shake. Is he feeling that massive, unrelenting pain too?

"Darling, we have to go to her funeral." His voice is so light she barely hears it.

"I know," She murmurs. "I know. But Goddammit, David, she was my everything."

"..." Now he doesn't respond.

"And," She laughs bitterly, tearfully, "I'll never know why."

* * *

They go to the funeral.

People who know no better cry. Elders awkwardly adopt solemn looks. Ester bites her lip so that her sobs won't be heard, grasping her daughter's hand tightly. Falan looks around for Tamar, unsettled by the depressing place she was brought to, and shivers at her mother's side. Arba keeps her face as still as possible, her eyes vacant and empty. The Queen and King don't cry. They stand as statues at the very front, their postures straight and statuesque. They look sad, yes, but wise and understanding, as if to tell their subjects that even the toughest of tragedies can be overcome. They thank people for coming with composed voices and shallow frowns, these traces of sadness showing enough emotion to content the public.

Very few people are allowed to go to the burial, and those who do don't know what to say to the monarchs as the princess dip into the ground. But King David and Queen Bathsheba don't expect them to say anything, and after the ground is sealed with dirt, they slowly go back to their castle, silent and stoic. Only after the doors of their bedroom are locked does Bathsheba go back to watching the rain.

* * *

He paints.

David sits with his back to Bathsheba, facing the easel as his wife reclines on the window seat directly behind him. The window seat is padded and pillowed- David brought in extra blankets for her. She sleeps there often, watching her husband paint. He used to not let her into his secret art room. Now he doesn't have the words to tell her to leave.

Bathsheba doesn't particularly like his hideaway. The portraits hung on every wall stare at her with gray eyes, as if blaming her for a crime. But she likes the silence, the heaviness. Being exposed to the stuffy air of the room makes it easy to fall asleep, and naps become frequent and long. For someone sleeping so much, it's hard to understand why she is always so tired.

David's art isn't too bad either. Though the progress is slow, she knows what he's painting. She knows who is going to smile at her from the blank canvas the moment he sets it up. Now that smile is appearing stroke by stroke before Bathsheba's eyes, a month after disappearing into the ground.

Bathsheba sits up. Tugging a blanket around herself, she tiptoes over to David. Each step feels like she's crossing a valley. David hears her and sets down the paintbrush, but doesn't turn around. She stands next to him for a moment, staring at the painting. Then she crosses in front of him, sits on his knee and burrows her face into his neck.

"David?"

"Yes?"

"...Do you miss her?"

David says nothing, and then he hugs her, fitting her head underneath his chin.

"I'm good at painting." In one long stroke, his hand sweep through her hair. "I can't bring her back, but we won't forget what she looked like."

They stare at the painting again.

Tamar smiles at her mother and her father, unburdened. She prays her baby is unburdened in heaven. Tears spring up again, like the tide of the ocean: an ebb and flow set in stone by a cosmic timer. She calms herself with deep breaths, clutching David's wild curls in her fists.

"David?"

"Yes?"

Bathsheba takes a deep, heavy breath and closes her eyes.

"I'm pregnant."

There is quiet. She's known for two weeks, but it's the first time she's actually admitted it aloud, let herself think about it. It did not feel real or true, just like the fact that her Tamar was gone. She felt disconnected from reality, from her very body. Morning sickness was not explained away, but cut off. It came and went and so did she, her mind disappearing into the clouds. It feels as though she is a husk of a person, going through the motions because that is what expected of her. All joy and happiness has been sucked out and replaced with a neediness to feel what can never be felt again, to speak with a shattered voice.

"Are you happy?" David asks, his hands frozen on her skin. He's rigid, tightly wound.

Bathsheba closes her eyes.

"I just wish…" In Bathsheba's dreams, Tamar holds the hand of a younger child while playing in the rose garden. "...It was not my wish for another child. It was Tamar's."

David does not tremble, she can feel his heart pounding against her ear. She's this close to him, and yet, she's never felt farther away.

"Will you look it in the eye?"

"How could I not?" She scoffs, pulling away and staring at him. His eyes do not scorch. They are lukewarm and comforting, and she doesn't know when they got to be that way. Bathsheba is sad she missed seeing it happen. "I need to know it's eye color."

David summons a ghost of a smile. She is not the only one who has become a husk. But in truth, David has probably been a husk before they met. It's because she brought forth Tamar that he was able to cure himself for a moment and return to the land of the happy slaves. Now that she's gone, he's returned to being a doll with a hopeless heart. But the way he holds her tight, grasps her with intent and purpose...

Maybe it's just by strings, but he's still tethered to reality.

"Be sure to tell me."

Bathsheba's lips form a frown. She presses his hand to her stomach.

In front of them, Tamar smiles. On the walls, the gray eyes stare.

In Bathsheba's stomach, a baby grows.

* * *

Annnnnnnd it's done! Yay. Took long enough XD

I've been gone for so long that ALL my docs on my doc manager deleted! Ahhhh...

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! I'm unsure of what to elaborate on...If you have questions, please ask! Please review! I'm afraid I've lost all my reading base because of my absence haha. If I start updating more frequently maybe you'll all come back XD Hope everyone's having a great week!

Adios~


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